


Those Who Favor Fire

by LSquared80



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Castle Black, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Jaime is Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, White Walkers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-02-19 13:20:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22778395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LSquared80/pseuds/LSquared80
Summary: Brienne accompanies Sansa to Castle Black to reunite the girl with her brother, fearful that her own fraught history with the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch - Jaime Lannister - will not bode well for them.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Past and very minor Jaime/Cersei
Comments: 125
Kudos: 386





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've written a couple stories using Jaime becoming The Kingslayer as a jumping off point for an alternate universe. He is faced with two possible punishments - join the Night's Watch or marry Brienne Tarth. While my story "When Fire Keeps Its Promise to Warm" imagined their lives if they'd married and eventually fallen in love, this tackles what would've become of them if Jaime had ended up taking the other punishment. 
> 
> The differences and similarities between this world and show canon should become clear as you read upcoming chapters, but a few things to note:  
> 1\. Brienne still swore herself to Catelyn and later Sansa.  
> 2\. Sansa was married to Ramsay and he took Winterfell.  
> 3\. There are no Wildings at Castle Black.
> 
> And finally, this is short first chapter. The rest will be longer.

**Some say the world will end in fire,  
Some say in ice.  
From what I’ve tasted of desire  
I hold with those who favor fire.  
-Robert Frost**

The cold was becoming intolerable even for Brienne. She would never admit to the discomfort. Every stop along the road to Castle Black – every weak fire built from damp wood – was framed as a courtesy to Lady Sansa. “This will not warm you much longer,” Brienne said, straining to control the chatter of her teeth as the latest fire did little to provide heat. 

“What if they refuse us?” Sansa asked. Now and then she worried having a brother in the Night’s Watch would be no match to the age-old law against women within its walls. 

“We will not be refused,” Brienne insisted, hoping the young woman didn’t notice the doubt that briefly flickered across her face. She was not worried about Jon Snow dismissing his sister in favor of upholding every single one of his vows. She was not even worried about the other Rangers; if their brotherhood with Jon did not deter them from denying or debasing Sansa, Brienne's sword would. The only concern she had was Lord Commander Jaime Lannister. “Lady Sansa,” she said, unable to risk disappointing her, “there is something you should know.” 

“Yes?” 

Brienne added more kindling to the fire but it did nothing to encourage the flames. She took a deep breath and said, “I’m not on the best of terms with the Lord Commander.” 

“Jaime Lannister?” Sansa had been told stories about him all her life. “How is that?” 

“His punishment for killing King Aerys was to either take the black or marry me. I refused the offer.” Brienne watched the flames dwindle to embers. “I doubt the Kingslayer would have married me, but I took away his choice.” 

Sansa absorbed the new information. “That was a long time ago,” she said. “I’m sure he feels no ill will toward you.” 

Brienne remained seated as her companion moved to mount her horse. She stared at the pile of half-burned wood and ash on the ground and thought about the last time she had seen Jaime when he visited Tarth with his father to negotiate for her hand in marriage. He had long, golden hair and wore armor that bore the Lannister sigil. He had the calloused hands of a knight, but his face was smooth and sharp. She had been only slightly shorter than her current height, with hair only a few inches longer. 

_Brienne wandered from room to room looking for Jaime. When she didn’t find him inside, she roamed the grounds of Evenfall Hall. He was there to court her and to save himself from being exiled to the cold north; his punishment for killing King Aerys was to either join the Night’s Watch or marry the ugliest girl in Westeros._

_She knew their last conversation in the training yard had left him with the impression they would soon be married and he would not have to take the black. “It can’t be all bad,” Jaime had said of a marriage between the two of them, suggesting he would help Brienne improve her sword fighting skills while they lived together in Casterly Rock. She had enjoyed the sparring that followed, but afterward she wondered if a lifetime of lessons was worth giving up her independence. Did she want to resign herself to being the Lady of Casterly Rock, a wife, and most likely a mother? Was she not sentencing herself to a life of imprisonment with a man she did not love and a man who would never love her? Of the two of them, she was not the criminal._

_She found Jaime in the stables, grooming the stallion he’d claimed as his own during his stay. Their eyes met and he said, “Lady Brienne,” with a courteous nod._

_Brienne folded her hands. “I’ve made a decision,” she said._

_“About what?” Jaime asked, his attention back on the horse; he had not considered Brienne had anything of important to convey._

_She was afraid to speak. Her throat was dry and she didn’t want to sound uncertain or apologetic. “I’m not going to marry you,” Brienne said in a clear, loud voice._

_He went still. The brush slipped from his hand and hit the ground. Jaime stood, rotating to face her._

_She looked at his hands, slowly clenching into fists. She took a step backward when he came toward her._

_“You can’t do that,” Jaime said._

_“I can. I don’t want to be your wife, Jaime, and I know you don’t want to be my husband.”_

_His jaw tensed. “I thought we reached an agreement. Do you know what this means?” he asked. “I won’t be able to have a family. I won’t be able to leave Castle Black. I’ll have to stay there until I die!”_

_Brienne squared her shoulders. “Then you shouldn’t have killed the king.”_

_Jaime lunged forward and she stumbled backward, knocking into a pile of hay before settling with her back against the wall. “Your father was going to agree to the terms!”_

_“I know,” she admitted. “But I told my father this is not how I want to live my life.”_

_There was barely an inch of space between them. His eyes softened and he took hold of her hands. “Don’t do this, Brienne. I will be a good husband. I promise.”_

_“I will not be someone’s punishment, Jaime,” she said, wrenching out of his grasp. “And I don’t owe you anything.” She turned and walked away. She could hear him running to catch up to her, but she wasn’t swayed. Not even when he mournfully called out to her, over and over._

_“Brienne! Brienne!”_

“Lady Brienne?” Sansa called out. “Are you alright?” 

“Yes,” she said, climbing to her feet. Brienne sheathed her sword and mounted her horse, resuming the journey to Castle Black and the man she had refused to marry.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Sansa arrive at Castle Black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and kudos on the first chapter! This premise is a lot of fun to write and I hope I do the characters justice in this alternate world.

The blare of the horns announcing visitors at the gate was far from a warm welcome. Brienne’s hand went to the hilt of her sword as the horses made a slow trot onto the grounds of Castle Black and men began to gather, confused and curious. She flinched when the gates closed behind them; there would be no easy escape from the cold, dark, unfamiliar territory. She followed Sansa’s gaze to the staircase of an old timbered structure where a young man with dark hair cycled through a series of expressions and emotions, landing on joy as he bounded down toward them. 

The reunion between Sansa and Jon was tender and touching. Brienne was humbled to be introduced to him as the person who found Sansa, honoring an oath to Catelyn, and made it possible for the young woman to stand before her brother. She hoped the embrace of kin was the salve the young woman needed to heal the wounds that could not be covered with a bandage. She hoped their reunion set a precedent of peace and acceptance. 

The women were taken to the common hall, and when Jon suggested he and Sansa retreat to a more private setting to talk, Brienne claimed a seat near the fire. Several men crowded one end of the hall, keeping their distance from her. She could feel their gazes – some speculating about her presence, others enraged by it – hot on the back of her neck. She knew Sansa needed time to convince Jon he should leave and help her retake Winterfell, but Brienne hoped they hurried. She was not afraid of the men, but rather of the consequences if any of them gave her reason to draw her sword. 

A door squeaked open and a ranger with a young boy’s soft, round face smiled at her. She returned the kindness, relieved that she had yet to see Jaime. Brienne was certain the Lord Commander had been notified of two female guests on the premises. She was trying to picture how he may have changed in the years since she refused the proposal. Her daydream was interrupted when Sansa returned to the hall and rushed toward Brienne, her eyes bleary though she smiled broadly. 

She relayed that Jon Snow was more than receptive to giving them a hot meal and a warm bed to sleep in, but, “He needs to speak with the Lord Commander." In her excitement, Sansa seemed to have forgotten the fraught history Brienne had spoken of between her and Jaime. 

The young-looking ranger introduced himself as Samwell and welcomed the two women to have a seat at a table. He offered bread and water, but the idea of eating made Brienne blanch. The pit in her stomach had grown with every passing second, and anxiety seized her heart when the door burst open. They were brought to their feet by the sound of boots pounding on the ground as Jon followed behind the Lord Commander. 

Jaime stopped a few feet away from the women. He was an imposing figure – tall and broad-shouldered with a gruff demeanor. The regal colors of House Lannister were replaced by a uniform of black – breeches, tunic, jerkin, and a heavy, fur-lined cloak. His eyes moved from Sansa to Brienne, where his gaze lingered for several long, uncomfortable moments of silence. His lips twitched into a grimace as recognition dawned on his face. He folded his arms and said, “You told me there were two women here, Snow. I only see one.” 

“Sir,” Jon began, “Lady Brienne has brought-” 

“She’s no lady,” Jaime said. 

Sansa stepped forward. “Lord Commander, Lady Brienne pledged her service to my mother and saved me from a life of pain and suffering. She is pledged to me now and goes where I go. Please do not let the past keep-” 

Brienne reached out to gently curl her fingers around Sansa’s arm. She stepped up in front of the younger woman and said, “Lord Commander Lannister, we do not mean to disrupt the Night’s Watch. Lady Sansa has survived a great ordeal and deserves to be fed and kept safe and to grieve with her brother. I will not leave her, but I will not-” 

“Fine,” Jaime groaned. “If it will keep you from blathering on, you may stay until it is safe for Lady Sansa to leave. Or until I grow tired of your ugly face.” 

Several of the men at the back of the room snickered. Jon looked at Sansa, aghast at the Lord Commander’s behavior. Brienne simply straightened her spine, imposing her unrivaled height, and matched his sneer. 

* 

Dinner for the rangers, builders, and stewards was mutton stew, heels of black bread, and horns of tepid ale. Brienne watched Sansa carefully pick at the stew, eating the occasional vegetable but mostly the broth. She glanced sideways at the Lord Commander’s table where he feasted with the three highest ranking members of the Night’s Watch. They ate mashed yellow turnips swimming in butter and a rack of lamb crusted in garlic and herbs. She had a feeling their ale did not taste like piss. 

She had hoped the novelty of having women within the walls would have worn off during the meal, but Brienne caught several men leering at Sansa and even suspected one had trained his lecherous eyes on her. She was grateful when Jon encouraged most of the men to clear out of the hall. It gave Brienne an opportunity to lean forward and whisper to Sansa, “Please don’t mention my history with Jaime to anyone. If you must tell Jon, beg him to keep it secret.” 

“Keep what secret?” Jon asked as he returned to the bench and reclaimed his seat beside his sister. 

“Nothing,” Sansa said, smiling at Brienne. 

Jon raised an eyebrow at the odd looks between the women. He dismissed it with a shake of his head and said, “The two of you will be staying in the King’s Tower. You’ll likely have to clear a sheet of dust off every surface. It’s been unoccupied for years.” 

“Thank you, Jon,” Brienne said. “I imagine Lord Commander Lannister wanted to put me up in the rookery with the ravens.” 

Jon offered a kind smile until he noticed Jaime staring at their table. He cleared his throat and lowered his voice to say, “I apologize for how he spoke to you, Lady Brienne. I’ve never seen him in the company of women. I suppose I expected better from him.” 

“No need to apologize,” Brienne said. She took a sip of ale, drinking quietly as Jon and Sansa began to reminisce. She settled her sights on Jaime and decided he looked both exactly as she had imagined and nothing like she had ever conjured in her mind’s eye. He had been weathered by time and place, but his handsomeness had not been compromised by a short beard of gold, wiry hair with threads of silver. His once lustrous and long hair was darker and as short as hers. Jaime no longer looked like a princely knight; he was shaggy and rugged. 

He looked at her and Brienne abruptly pointed her gaze at the ceiling. If he was appraising her in the same manner, she did not want to know the outcome. 

* 

The solar in the Lord Commander’s Tower had windows covered with heavy drapes and a large supply of wood for the hearth. It was warm enough that when Jaime returned to his chambers, he shrugged out of his cloak and stripped out of his tunic. He poured ale into a horn he had carried with him from the hall and took a long, sloppy drink, wiping the back of his hand across his dampened beard. 

Jaime carried the ale with him across the floor. He used his foot to pry the door to his sleeping cell open. He emptied the horn in one long drink and tossed it aside before letting his body collapse onto the bed, one leg dangling off the side. He folded his hands on his bare stomach, still able to feel hard muscle beneath his flesh. If he’d become the Lord of Casterly Rock, Jaime wondered if he would have the robust belly of a man contentedly ruling his house. A man who spent his days eating and drinking, sitting and fucking. 

It was impossible to know how the years had changed Brienne of Tarth’s body when she was masked by armor. _For the best_ , he thought. Time had made her even taller but not much else as far as he could see. He was certain she was as plain and mulish as he’d remembered the handful of times his mind had wandered to the past. 

He’d given a lot of time to thinking about her in the first several years he was a ranger in the Night’s Watch – seething over her, wishing her dead, blaming her for the agony he endured over not being able to see Cersei. But as Jaime found his place among the men, and renewed his sense of duty to serve, he eventually decided he was better off at Castle Black than sharing a bed with the beast. 

Jaime could count on one hand the number of times Brienne had crossed his mind since then, and so he was incensed that she breached the gate and forced him to remember her crooked nose and limp hair and piercing blue eyes. 

* 

The entry door to the King’s Tower was studded with iron but that failed to convince Brienne she could let her guard down. It was a tall, narrow structure with far too much space above and below where they were to sleep. For that reason, she removed her armor but kept her sword secured at her hip. 

Sansa went about the room proving Jon’s theory that dust covered every surface. She wiped the pad of her index finger along the seat of a chair, collecting dirt on her skin. She blew on the top of a small table and a cloud of dust erupted. She sneezed and laughed. 

Brienne smiled as she watched Sansa bound across the room to the bed she’d claimed as her own. Despite the condition of their room, Sansa was the happiest Brienne had ever seen her. 

“Are you not tired?” Sansa asked. 

Brienne shook her head. “Not yet,” she said, stifling a yawn. 

“Are you nervous being this close to the wall?” 

“No, I don’t think so,” Brienne told her. 

Sansa scooted toward the middle of the bed and pulled the furs up to her waist. “I thought I might be. Old Nan liked to tell us stories about the White Walkers. I would run crying to Mother and she assured me none had been spotted for thousands of years, if ever. Do you believe they exist?” 

“I can’t say for sure one way or the other. But,” Brienne said, nodding her head in the direction of the wall, “I’m glad we have people here to protect the realm. It’s quite a sacrifice for men like your brother.” 

“I’m not sure I understand how Jon could choose to do something that other men are forced into as penance for their crimes,” Sansa admitted. She paused, looking away before asking, “Are you worried about the Lord Commander? He was quite cruel.” 

Brienne sighed. “I’m not worried, Lady Sansa. He’s exactly the man I expected him to be. He hasn’t changed at all.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime has been avoiding Brienne, but an incident in the King's Tower drives him to finally pay attention to her and their shared past. 
> 
> Warning for attempted, non-graphic assault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm blown away by the reaction to this story and so pleased people are enjoying it! I'm excited to finally get Jaime and Brienne in close, private proximity to one another. 
> 
> I did some research on the Night's Watch and cobbled together some canon with some of my own ideas, especially in regards to how to punish a member of the brotherhood for committing a crime.

Brienne spent her first days at Castle Black mostly standing guard outside rooms while Sansa pleaded with Jon to leave the brotherhood and help take Winterfell back from the Boltons. She only saw Jaime in the common hall, but he wasn’t present for every meal and she wasn’t allowed into every gathering. The few times they occupied the same space she attempted to address him and their shared past, but he always dismissed her. 

Jon confided in Sansa that the Lord Commander had started taking most meals in his solar, information that Sansa passed to Brienne in a hushed tone across the table. 

“It matters little to me if I leave here without having a proper conversation with him,” Brienne said. Her mournful gaze wandered to his vacant chair, betraying her declaration. 

* 

Jaime remained in the Shieldhall long after the other men had left the meeting. He’d fielded questions about the two female guests – _no, they would not be allowed to stay indefinitely_ and _no, you may not volunteer to guard the door to their room_ – and needed to be isolated from the lot of them. All of the focus on the women steered Jaime toward the past, and he loathed the time lost to entertaining ideas about how his life could have been different. 

In his first years as a ranger, he mourned the life he would never have – no land, no wife, no children, no Cersei. He had been angry at himself, his father, and Brienne most of all for allowing him to want that life. For having it within his grasp only to take it away. 

Jaime was surprised to realize that when he allowed himself to remember that time, he could so vividly recall being on Tarth. He could smell the sea salt in the air, see the lush meadows and the sapphire sea. He remembered how at first, he’d begrudgingly resigned himself to a life with the Evenstar’s daughter and then looked forward to it – to sparring with swords and words, to raising yellow-haired children who would no doubt grow to be tall, strong warriors. He had gone from belittling and berating Brienne, telling his father she was beneath him, to naming their children to pathetically chasing after her. 

Jaime was compelled to stand from his chair in protest of the memories; he could hear himself calling to her. _Brienne! Brienne!_

He must have said her name out loud. His First Steward, Eddison Tollet, peeked in from where he’d been standing guard outside the door. “Lord Commander?” he asked. “Do you need to see the Tarth woman?” 

Jaime shook his head. “Not at all.” 

* 

Brienne tried not to sleep at night, but rather in the early morning hours when Jon could keep watch over Sansa. But after a day of helping groom the horses and polish the weapons in the armory, she was exhausted. She removed her sword belt and slumped down to the floor, leaning against the wall outside the room where Sansa was sound asleep. Brienne’s eyelids were heavy and had the texture of sandpaper as she struggled to keep them open. 

She succumbed to sleep. She woke sometime later with a start and realized her sword was no longer sheathed and draped across her lap. She heard a whimper and a bang and climbed to her feet. She gave the door to Sansa’s room a push, finding it had been barred. Her pulse raced as she kicked at the door and threw herself against it until the wood cracked. Brienne barreled into the dark room and lunged at the figure hovering above Sansa, a hand clamped over the frightened girl’s mouth. 

The intruder let go to fight Brienne and Sansa screamed and scrambled out of the bed. Weaponless, Brienne threw punches and dodged the point of the man’s dagger. Mercifully, Sansa’s cries were heard and Jon was one of the first to shine a torch into the room, illuminating the attacker’s face. 

Brienne could not name the man, but she knew they had shared dinner at the same table more than once. With the flames throwing light into the room, she saw her sword glinting on the floor and grabbed it. It didn’t matter though – Jon and the others had wounded the intruder and dragged him out. 

As Brienne rushed across the room to check on Sansa, Jon returned to do the same. “I’m alright,” she insisted, sniffling. 

“I’m so incredibly sorry, Lady Sansa,” Brienne told her, bowing her head in shame. “I did not mean to fall asleep.” 

Sansa stared vacantly ahead, but soon the words registered. She stood and approached Brienne. “You haven’t been sleeping at night?” she asked. 

Brienne shook her head. 

“Oh, Brienne,” Sansa sighed. She reached out to take hold of her protector’s hands. “You did nothing wrong.” She looked at her brother. “Can you find a safe place where Brienne can rest and not have to worry about me?” 

* 

The women dressed and joined the men of the Night’s Watch in the courtyard. Dawn had begun to show itself in smears of pale yellow and orange. Jaime stood on a platform with the attacker – a scrawny man named Lyle. 

Brienne was struck by how well Jaime owned his title in that moment. He _was_ commanding of his men; they gathered around Jaime, obedient and engrossed, and she wondered if he’d earned their respect by virtue of his title or for his behavior through the years. He exhibited authority and a certain kind of grace that reminded her he had once been a celebrated knight and a promising leader – to the Kingsguard, perhaps, or to the people of Lannisport if he’d taken on the title Lord of Casterly Rock. 

“Here on the wall,” Jaime spoke loudly, his voice carrying, “we are all one House.” He echoed the words spoken to Jon and the others when they were only recruits. The same words that had ushered him into the brotherhood so many years ago. “It is a great honor to serve the Night’s Watch. We protect the realm. We are brothers. When you betray the brotherhood, you break your oath!” 

All of the men raised their weapons and shouted in support of the Lord Commander’s words. The noise startled Sansa, and Brienne could see the terror in her eyes as the young woman realized what was to take place – the man would be handed the punishment he would have received had he not taken the black as penance for his previous crimes. 

Jaime looked at Lyle. “You have betrayed your vows.” His eyes wandered to Brienne, holding on her pale face for a long beat before moving back to the criminal. “You came here as a raper,” he said, drawing his dagger, “and you-” The sound of Sansa gasping and the way she turned to bury her face in the crook of her brother’s shoulder gave Jaime pause. He signaled for two men to climb onto the platform and said, “Get him out of my sight.” 

* 

Jon approached Jaime about the women’s sleeping arrangements, telling him that Sansa refused to leave his side and she was overcome with guilt for the way Brienne had dedicated herself to her own detriment. During dinner in the hall, Jaime left his seat and crossed the room. He stood at the end of the table where Sansa, Brienne, and Jon dined on pork pie. They all looked up at him, expectant. 

“Lady Sansa,” Jaime said, “your brother will move to the King’s Tower to stay with you. I will assign two men each night to guard the entrance to the tower.” He paused and trained his eyes on Brienne. 

Uncomfortable under his stare and in the silence, Brienne said, “I’m fine to remain in the King’s Tower if Lady Sansa and-” 

“We’ll find a place for you,” Jaime interrupted. He punctuated his orders with a nod and walked away. 

Sansa immediately moved to sit beside Brienne and said, “I’m sorry, Lady Brienne. I only told Jon that I wanted you to be able to rest without-” 

“It’s alright,” Brienne insisted, watching Jaime sideways as he returned to his seat. She would expect him to send her to the rookery and hope she could peacefully negotiate a spot, at best, in the stables. 

* 

Night blanketed Castle Black and several of the men lumbered to the Flint Barracks and others to their respective posts. Brienne stood in the courtyard, hugging a sack of her few belongings to her chest. Eddison Tollett approached her from the right. “Lord Commander Lannister has assigned you to sleep in the Lord Commander’s Tower,” he said. 

Brienne blinked. “I’m certain that is incorrect.” 

He laughed. “And I’m certain it’s correct. There are empty sleeping cells underneath his chambers.” 

Eddison began walking and Brienne jogged until she caught up. “I really don’t think-” 

“I’m following orders, Lady Brienne,” he assured her. 

She sighed and followed him to the entrance of the imposing stone tower. 

“Men are posted outside at all hours, of course,” Eddison told her. 

Brienne rolled her eyes. If she hadn’t been so tired, Lyle would have been no match for her. She knew the men were always there to protect the Lord Commander, but bristled at the implication they were to protect her as well. _She_ didn’t need men posted at the door. 

He led her into a dark room full of makeshift walls and lumpy bedrolls. “Goodnight, Lady Brienne,” he said, lighting a torch on the wall before he took his leave. 

Brienne looked around at the small area the flame illuminated. She did not fret over less than stellar sleeping conditions; she would gladly accept a bed of stone or the floor of the forest. What bothered her was knowing how little separated her from Jaime. Brienne had thought she might make it out of Castle Black without ever needing to confront their past, but sleeping in close proximity made her doubt that was possible. She worried at his intentions placing her beneath his chambers. 

As if on cue, she heard a man clear his throat and she unsheathed her sword. She turned and only lowered her weapon slightly at the sight of Jaime. 

“You are not sleeping here,” he said. 

“I told Edd that I did not think you meant for-” 

“You’ll be upstairs.” 

Brienne narrowed her eyes. 

“Come on,” he said, turning to climb the stairs. 

She hesitated before following behind him. He took her to the third and the topmost floor. Brienne looked around at the brocade drapes covering the windows and the cushioned chairs arranged around the hearth. She was standing in Jaime’s solar and surmised the bedroll placed near the fire was meant for her. She looked across the room and through an open door to where she could see the foot of Jaime’s own bed. “Why?” she asked softly. 

“Lady Sansa wants you to have a safe place to sleep. What is safer than the Lord Commander’s chamber?” 

Her eyes widened. “The rookery, the armory, atop the wall, to name a few,” Brienne said. 

Jaime smiled, shaking his head. “Time has not made your tongue any less sharp.” 

“You’re bending ancient rule to allow us beyond the gate. What kind of trouble are you in for letting a woman sleep in your solar?” 

“I’m the Lord Commander,” he countered. “I decide what kind of trouble I’m in." 

He began to turn away and she called out, “Wait,” not liking the idea of going to sleep with so much unspoken between them. Not yet having a clear understanding of whether or not Jaime wanted her head on a stick or was grateful for where he had ended up. “You have refused to have a proper conversation with me. You have behaved as though we never met before my arrival at Castle Black. And now suddenly you expect me to-” 

“I’m rather tired and I suspect you are as well,” Jaime said. “We will have that conversation, but not now.” He turned away from her. 

Brienne intended to argue, but she had to stifle a yawn. She was tired and her bones were weary. The solar was certainly warm and the bedroll looked rather comfortable. She resigned herself to spending one night there, with her sword nearby. 

Jaime began to close the door to his bed chambers. He paused when he saw Brienne reach to untie the laces of her Pauldron. Their eyes met and he quickly sealed the door shut. 

* 

Brienne was careful to wake and begin to dress before Jaime stirred. She pulled a clean tunic over her head and walked to the window. She folded the drape aside and realized she had never had a moment alone to marvel at their location. Seeing the wall up close was exhilarating and a bit frightening. If she thought too much about what it was said to be keeping away, her heart fluttered in her chest and she felt a prickle of heat along her spine. 

She looked over at the closed door to Jaime’s bed chambers. Was this what their marriage would have looked like? Her rising early while he continued to snore under silks. The two of them sleeping in each other’s vicinity but never in the same bed. Terse conversation or none at all. Brienne flinched when the door suddenly popped open and Jaime appeared, shirtless and yawning. 

“You’re awake early,” he said, walking out into the solar. 

She nodded. “It would seem so.” 

“Did you sleep well?” 

Brienne nodded again. 

“Lady Sansa will be pleased. Although you shouldn’t tell her where exactly you slept. You shouldn’t tell anyone.” His eyes dipped downward to where she hadn’t yet tied the laces of her tunic. He could see an expanse of pale, freckled skin and the shape of her collarbone. 

She clutched a hand to her chest, holding the gaping fabric closed. 

“Still modest, I see,” Jaime said with a grin. He arched his back, stretching and flexing his muscles. 

“And you’re still arrogant and inappropriate, I see.” 

“Inappropriate?” 

Brienne gestured at his naked torso – golden flesh, rigid with muscles and a dusting of fine hair along his arms and the broad planes of his chest. 

Jaime licked his bottom lip. He sat down in one of the chairs facing the hearth. He didn’t know if it was being alone in his chambers – his territory – that made him suddenly eager to address the past. But he allowed his eyes to graze from her head to her feet, delighting in the way she squirmed, and said, “The last time we were together you were still the Maid of Tarth. Has that changed?” 

She could feel heat blooming in her cheeks. 

Jaime grinned at the way she blushed. He remembered how easy it had been on Tarth to put pink in her cheeks, to scandalize her. “I’ll take that as a no.” He leaned back, relaxed. “Don’t you find it a bit odd?” 

“What?” she asked cautiously. 

“Your refusal to marry sentenced me to a lifetime at Castle Black. I ascended the ranks and command an army of men who protect the realm. You remain a maiden and serve at the feet of Sansa Stark.” 

Brienne clenched her teeth. “First of all,” she said, and Jaime grinned at the fire in her eyes, “you’re here because you killed the king, not because I refused to be your wife. And second-” 

The first horn of the day blared and Brienne was grateful for the loud intrusion. “I should check on Lady Sansa,” she said, moving to the other side of the room to pluck her cloak from where it was draped over the back of a chair. Her heart was hammering against the walls of her chest and she moved at the same frenzied pace to exit the tower. 

* 

Jaime’s meeting was disturbed by the hardy bellows of men. He followed the raucous noise to the training yard where he found an audience watching Brienne spar with Jon. The young man did a respectable job of keeping up with her despite the comical difference in their height. But soon he had to yield to her, and the two shook hands as the crowd applauded. 

A young ranger stepped forward and announced that he wanted to be the next to spar with Brienne of Tarth. He was knocked aside by a much taller, broad-shouldered steward who said, “I will be the next.” 

“No, you won’t,” Jaime said, pushing through the crowd until he came face to face with Brienne. He took the tourney sword out of the ranger’s hand and pointed it at the ground near her feet. “I am next.” 

“I think I’ve had enough for one day,” Brienne said, to groans of disappointment. 

Jaime shook his head. “A long time ago you agreed to let me teach you everything I knew about fighting.” 

“I know everything I need to.” 

“You made a promise. You keep promises, don’t you, Brienne?” 

“I don’t remember making that promise. Besides,” she said, “what does the Kingslayer know about keeping promises?” Several of the men gasped, others stifled a laugh. Brienne’s breath seized in her throat at the way Jaime’s eyes darkened, and she couldn’t tell if he was more wounded than enraged. 

The unfavorable name had not reached Jaime’s ears since he’d taken the black. He drew closer to her. “When I joined the Night’s Watch, all of my crimes were erased.” He lowered his voice so only she could hear him say, “One of the many reasons to be grateful you turned me down.” 

“Alright, if you’re up for the challenge,” Brienne said loudly. She took a step back and assumed a fighting stance. 

The crowd moved, giving them a wider berth. Soon the only sound was the clash of steel on steel and the occasional grunt from Jaime or Brienne. The men watched with baited breath as they lunged and parried, chasing one another in tight circles or back and forth, drawing streaks in the mud. He criticized her footwork, attempting to school her, but in time he was rendered unable to speak as it took more effort to defend himself. Sweat shined on their faces and they were both flush from the exertion. Only they understood that every strike of their swords was a condemnation, and only Jaime knew that his rage stemmed more from Brienne reminding him he’d once had the opportunity for a different life than for taking that opportunity away. 

Jaime's arm ached, pain shooting down into his hand, but he refused to yield. Through the corner of his eye he saw members of their audience lose interest, dispersing this way and that, while others were cheering and watching with intense focus. He heard someone remark, “This could go on all night,” and another whispered, “Are they fighting or fucking?” 

He felt his grip loosen and knew that Brienne could tell he was weakening. Jaime pulled his focus from the pain to the promise of victory. He was energized by his opponent and his determination. The Lord Commander was not going to lose to anyone, but especially not to a woman. Especially not to Brienne of Tarth. He felt a surge of strength and landed a blow that knocked the sword from her hand. He closed in on her and Brienne lost her footing, landing on her back in the dirt. 

Jaime stood above her. He slowly bent his knees, hovering near her, the blunt tip of the tourney sword pressed into her throat. His eyes were locked on her face. He could feel where his thighs caged her in and heat emanated from her body and his own. His pulse raced, his blood soaring, and all he could think was _it would have been like this_. 

“I yield,” she hissed. Brienne pushed a fist against his hip and climbed out from beneath him as Jaime slumped into a seated position on the dirt. He may have won, but he looked beaten. She extended her hand toward him and he hesitated before grabbing on and letting her help him up from the ground. 

* 

Jaime bathed and retired to his bed long before Brienne had finished dining in the hall. He listened to her make an effort to be quiet as she climbed the stairs to his solar. He could hear the rustle of fabric as she undressed and he wondered if there were any marks on her skin from their earlier match; he had a bruise along his ribcage and aches in muscles he hadn’t known were there. 

He closed his eyes and tried to imagine her breasts and the thatch of hair between her legs, all the while telling himself it was only because their passionate sparring in the yard had ended with her beneath him. Only because he’d gone so long without the touch of a woman. Jaime had been living on memories of Cersei, and he felt a stab of guilt for thinking about someone else. But Brienne was a woman he'd come rather close to marrying and where kingdoms and vows – his and hers – separated him from Cersei, only a thin wall kept him from Brienne. 

His eyes snapped open at the sound of a crash. Jaime bolted upright and charged out of the room only to find Brienne, alone, with a puddle of wine at her feet; she’d knocked into a table and tipped over a full goblet of red. 

“I didn’t see it in the dark,” she explained. 

Jaime moved to add logs to the fire, enlivening the flames, and discovered he could see quite a lot. It appeared that Brienne had not finished dressing when she knocked over the goblet. She stood before him in only a sleeveless, white shift, and he could finally satisfy his curiosity about what was underneath all the armor she wore – miles of smooth, pale skin, long, muscled legs, and small but pert breasts. “Here,” he said, finding a rag and tossing it down onto the puddle. “It will get cleaned up in the morning.” 

She nodded, supposing he would retreat back to his room. 

“Wine sounds rather good now,” Jaime remarked, bending to pick up the goblet. There was always a copper ewer of wine in the Lord Commander’s solar. 

“I can move my things downstairs,” she offered. “I’ll be fine there and you can have your space back to-” She stopped talking when Jaime reached out with a goblet in his hand, having poured wine for her too. 

He decided she only accepted the goblet to have something to hold against her rather exposed chest. He sat himself in one of the chairs near the hearth and told her, “You’re quite good with a sword.” 

Brienne looked up at him. “Th-thank you.” 

He shrugged. “Earlier, when I perhaps implied that what you’ve made of your life is... well...” 

She reached down for one of the furs on the bedroll. Brienne wrapped it around her shoulders and sat in the chair opposite him. “You’re not the only person to wonder what a woman in Westeros could make of herself if not a wife and mother. But I didn’t turn you down so I that I could marry someone else. If you must know, when you left Tarth I trained with our master-of-arms. I participated in many a tournament, and years later when I won at Bitterbridge I joined King Renly’s Kingsguard.” 

He thought she sounded proud until then. Her expression tightened and there was a hitch in her breath. 

“But I failed to protect him,” she said, her voice breaking. “He was murdered. I might as well have wielded the sword.” She trembled, looking at Jaime. If he had meant to draw similarities to their lives – both of them celibate, not exactly by choice, and serving others – there was something else to add to the list, she thought. _Kingslayer_. 

Jaime could see the shine of tears in her eyes. She went on to describe meeting Catelyn Stark, and because of her inability to honor the oath she made to Renly, feeling compelled to promise to find the woman’s missing daughters. As she talked, her grip on the fur loosened and one side of the cover slipped down to her elbow, exposing her shoulder, the thin strap of her shift, and the smooth skin of her muscled arm. 

“And that,” he asked when she’d caught him up to the present, “is a suitable life for you?” 

“Yes,” she said, offended. “All I’ve ever wanted is to be a knight.” 

“But you’re not.” 

“Only because it is not allowed,” she said. 

Jaime watched the other side of the fur slip down, pooling at her waist, and if Brienne noticed she was too incensed to care. “I’m merely curious, Brienne. I find it interesting that you walked away from a marriage to me for a life of servitude and,” he paused a moment, shifting closer to her, “never taking a man, or woman, between your legs.” He couldn’t help it; it was a thrill to see her squirm and blush. He couldn’t help but fall back into the pattern of teasing her as he had so many years ago on Tarth. 

She couldn’t fault him for being vulgar and ill-mannered. She remembered that, even years ago, it was how he expressed distaste and discomfort. “You must hate me,” she said. 

“I did, for a while,” he admitted. “And then I felt nothing for you.” 

Brienne flinched more severely than she had each time his sword sliced the air in front of her. She was troubled by her reaction, finding the idea of not being thought about, not being considered at all, far more painful than being hated. She flinched again when Jaime reached toward her, but his touch was more tender than the sentiment of his words as he wiped the pad of his thumb against a smear of dirt above her brow. 

She opened her mouth to respond, but an urgent knock at the door interrupted. She twisted in her seat to follow Jaime as he got up and crossed to the door. He looked alarmed and she surmised late night visitors to the Lord Commander’s Tower did not happen often. 

Jaime held a finger to his lips, silently commanding her to be quiet. He opened the door only enough for Edd, winded and pale, to see him. “Yes?” 

“Something has happened,” the man said. 

“Apparently. What is so urgent that it could not wait for morning?” 

“Denys.” Edd’s eyes were wide and wild. 

Jaime heaved a sigh. “What about Denys?” 

“He and some of the other builders. They went north of the wall. For the inspection.” 

“Yes, I know.” 

“Denys didn’t make it back,” Edd told him. 

Jaime narrowed his eyes. He cast a glance back at Brienne. She was kneeling on the seat of her chair, turned to look at him. He slipped out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. “What happened?” 

“The Others.” 

“Pardon?” 

Edd gulped. “White Walkers. The men saw with their own eyes.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Castle Black receives more visitors, Jaime and Brienne are both confounded by their growing closeness and attraction.
> 
> UPDATED 3/8: I accidentally posted the wrong version of this chapter (I warned about the dental surgery messing me up!). Thanks to a reader I fixed the reference I mistakenly left in that said Cersei and Robert have no children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments! This story is a lot of fun to write. I do have to give a warning that I had dental surgery the other day, so we'll say my pain medication is to blame for any glaring mistakes. 
> 
> FYI, I'm adhering to the timeline of succession from Robert to Joffrey to Tommen, with the youngest Baratheon as the current King. And if you aren't a big fan of Tormund, don't worry - he's not going to feature heavily into the story.

Jaime sent a shaken Edd away, leaving him with the instruction to only alert the men who had accompanied Denys south of the wall and the other highest-ranking members that he wanted to meet in the common hall. He turned back into the room as if Brienne wouldn’t have been able to hear every word exchanged between the two men. 

She set her goblet on the floor and stood, abandoning the fur she’d been covering herself with. “Do you think it’s true?” she asked, following Jaime across the floor. 

He turned suddenly and they nearly collided. He gripped her by the arms, holding Brienne a slight distance away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. 

She rolled her eyes. “White Walkers. Would those men create a story like that?” 

Jaime pushed the pads of his fingers into her flesh. “Remember, you are _not_ in my solar. You didn’t hear any of that.” 

“I can keep a secret, Jaime,” Brienne told him, grimacing as she pulled free of his grasp. “But I won’t pretend to be ignorant. You may not know me well after all these years, but you know I will not be treated like a simpering, weak woman.” 

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. After a moment he pushed a breath between his teeth and said, “I only send my best men beyond the wall. I have no reason to think any one of them would lie.” 

Brienne shivered. 

Jaime turned and crossed into his sleeping cell, closing the door. When he returned, fully dressed and wearing his cloak, he saw Brienne dressed and standing near the door with her sword at her hip. “What are you doing?” 

“Going with you.” 

“No.” He moved to walk past her and out the door, but he could hear the stomp of her boots behind him. He stopped halfway down the stairs and glared at her. She matched his stare. Jaime sighed. He had no reason to think anything he said would keep her away. “Fine. But you cannot enter the hall with me.” 

Brienne nodded. Her posture changed; she straightened her spine and squared her shoulders. She looked like a soldier. 

Shaking his head, Jaime turned and bounded the rest of the way down the stairs and out into the cold. 

* 

The Lord Commander addressed an audience of eleven men. He spoke in hushed tones and chided anyone who dared to raise his voice. “We will not create unnecessary worry and mayhem,” Jaime insisted. “For now, you will all say that Denys stayed behind to monitor the repairs. The only people that need to know what you saw are in this room.” 

The door squeaked open and all heads turned to see Brienne. 

“Now is not a good time, Lady Brienne,” Jaime chided her, maintaining the pretense he had not succumbed to her insistence to be included. “Please return to your sleeping cell.” 

She instead closed the door behind her and advanced closer to where they sat, gathered by the fire. “Forgive me,” she said, “but I heard you leave the tower and I sensed there was trouble. I want to help however I can.” She looked at the men and all of them appeared disgusted by the offer. “You’ve seen me fight,” she reminded them. She had bested several men, and to declare Jaime the victor of their swordfight was to ignore how well and how long she stood up to him. 

Edd gestured for the men to scoot further along the bench, making room for Brienne on one end. She sat with her hands folded on the table as Jaime presented a plan of action; they would send a well-armed group of seasoned brothers north of the wall. The men would disperse in pairs, covering as much ground as possible. He enlisted Brienne’s help to covertly prepare the weaponry they would need to take. 

As one of the men recounted the story again, describing gaunt creatures with cold, blue eyes, Jaime found himself watching Brienne listen to the tale. She seemed alert and unafraid. Brave and inspired to fight. She was willing to run toward the threat when she could have just as easily woke Sansa Stark and taken off with the girl to a safer place. He was certain she would volunteer to go beyond the wall, and certain he did not want her to. 

* 

The morning meal was porridge. Jaime’s bowl sat untouched. He was preoccupied by his concern for the men who had just left to scour the land for Denys and to, he hoped, disprove the mounting belief that White Walkers were looming nearby. Perhaps the creatures were wildings trying to give them a fright. 

He caught Brienne looking at him, her lips drawn into a taut smile. He understood what she was telling him without a single spoken word – he needed to eat the porridge. He needed to go about his day as though nothing was different. 

Jaime offered Brienne one nod of his head as he picked up his spoon. 

* 

The day was long, with no word from the men. Jaime retired to his chambers early to escape the questions from other rangers, stewards, and builders as they caught on to the tension. He could not find sleep, though, and the bed was too small to contain his restless body and worried mind. Jaime quietly opened the door only to see that Brienne was not asleep either. 

She was seated on her bedroll by the hearth, her knees drawn up to her chest. Her eyes widened at the sight of Jaime and she quickly tugged the hem of her shift down, hugging her arms around her legs. 

“I can’t sleep either,” he said. He picked the ewer up from the table and held it under his nose to sniff the wine. “Would you like some?” Jaime asked. 

Brienne hesitated before nodding her head. 

He poured wine into a goblet for her and another for himself, carrying them across the room. 

She was surprised when Jaime helped himself to a seat on the opposite end of the bedroll. Her body stiffened and flushed at the proximity. Brienne rearranged herself to sit cross-legged and pulled a fur across her legs. It was too much heat – the fur, the fire, the nearness of Jaime – but she wanted to hide herself and her reaction to him. It didn’t little to ease the odd flutter in her stomach she felt when he looked at her. 

“If the men don’t return soon,” he said, “I’ll have to send more.” 

Brienne winced as she came to understand the immense weight on Jaime’s shoulders. She took a sip of the wine. Her lips puckered at the sour taste, earning a grin from Jaime. She smiled in return. “May I ask,” she said, filling the silence, “how you became Lord Commander?” 

“Jeor Mormont was already an old man when I joined the Night’s Watch,” Jaime told her. “He died and the men elected me.” 

Laughter bubbled up from her chest. 

“What?” Jaime asked. 

Brienne wiped a hand across her mouth where wine had dribbled from one corner. “I apologize, but... I didn’t expect such a simple answer. I meant... how did you get elected? Were you surprised? Did you ask for it?” 

Jaime smiled at her amusement. “I was surprised. I was not well-liked upon my arrival.” 

She feigned shock at the notion. 

He glared at her, stifling a grin. “The men were quite loyal to the Mad King. And I suppose men who had been serving for years thought I would bring a bed stuffed with feathers while they slept on hay. Lannister gold meant nothing here and I didn’t expect it to. I worked as hard as anyone.” He paused, tilting his head. 

Brienne was uncomfortable as his eyes studied her. She took a long drink of the wine. 

“You find that hard to believe? Did you think my father paid for my ranking?” 

She shook her head and said a sincere, “No.” 

Jaime took note of the gentle orange halo of light around Brienne from the flames. He couldn’t ignore how the intimacy of the moment resembled a marriage, and he felt the same pressure on his chest that struck him on the rare occasion thoughts of Cersei or the children he never had plagued him – regret, longing, and a guilt-inducing urge to break his vows to the Night’s Watch and claim the kind of life he couldn’t have as a crow. 

They were both startled at the sound of muffled shouting followed by furious knocking at the door. Jaime and Brienne scrambled to their feet, both intending to grab the nearest weapons. He approached the door with caution, opening it to reveal Jon Snow fighting himself out of the grasp of the men who had been guarding the tower. The young ranger burst forward, barreling into the room. 

Jaime covertly signaled for Brienne to stay back. He knew the young man had already spotted her, but he could still keep the guards in the dark about her sleeping arrangements. He dismissed them and grabbed Jon by the collar of his cloak, pulling him further in and shutting the door. 

“A raven came today,” Jon said, winded. He held up a scroll. “From Winterfell. Ramsay Bolton is... he... he is _disgusting_.” 

Jaime snatched the scroll from his hands. He didn’t think Jon seemed all that interested in or concerned about Brienne’s presence, and while she wrapped the blanket around herself Jaime opened the paper across the tabletop. He felt Brienne move to stand behind him, reading over his shoulder. 

“Has Lady Sansa seen this?” she asked, disturbed by Ramsay’s foul language and crude statements about the Stark girl. 

Jon shook his head. He walked closer to Jaime and said, “Lord Commander, I have been putting off my sister’s requests, but I see now that she is right. We cannot let that brute take our family’s home. I must ask you, Lord Commander, to release me from my vows.” 

Jaime glanced at Brienne and back to his ranger. “Now is not a good time, Snow.” 

The younger man looked at Brienne. “This,” he said, gesturing toward her, “is none of my business. I am only here to-” 

“I can’t say why, right now, but we need our best men here,” Jaime told him. 

Brienne cleared her throat. “I could take Lady Sansa and-” 

“No. Thank you, but I have to do this myself. I have to gather an army.” Jon took a breath. It pained him to appeal to the Lord Commander on such a deeply personal, private level, but he said, “Lord Commander, when we take the black, we do not forget our lives before. Our families. Our homes. I’m certain if your family needed-” 

Jon was interrupted by two blares of the horn. 

“What does that mean?” Brienne asked, noting the look of alarm in the young man’s eyes as Jaime scrambled to dress. 

Jon swallowed hard. “Wildings at the gate.” 

* 

Brienne followed the men to the yard. They marched in silence, tense and resolute. Her hand never left the hilt of her sword, but the scene they came upon was far from threatening. 

Two wilding men – one tall and bearded with a head of unruly red hair and the other older and round – flanked an injured ranger. Another wilding, bleeding from the head, had collapsed to his knees on the snow. The fourth was a woman, her belly round with child. 

The returning men of the Night’s Watch had been cut down by more than half, and from the looks of their wounds the others would never be seen again. 

One of the men hobbled closer to Jaime and said, “Lord Commander, we found Denys.” 

Jaime squinted, his eyes searching the mangled group for the missing builder. “Where is he?” 

“He wasn’t Denys anymore,” one of the returning stewards offered. “His eyes... they were ice cold and blue. His hands were black.” 

Jaime shuddered. _A wight._

Nearly all of the Night’s Watch had been stirred from their sleep by the noise. They gathered on the steps, on the battlements, and behind their Lord Commander. Some, still bleary-eyed, took longer to grasp the magnitude of what was being said. The men who caught on whispered to the others, and Brienne watched the horror register on their faces. 

“These men,” the injured steward said, gesturing to the wildings, “they fought with us. They mean no harm.” 

The woman clutched a hand to the slope of her stomach and said, “Please, don’t send us back.” 

Jaime looked over his shoulder at Brienne. Her face was pinched tight with concern, but she seemed to offer a brief, encouraging smile. He locked eyes with Samwell Tarly and said, “Wake the Maester.” 

* 

The surviving men and wildings gathered by the hearth in the common hall. The woman, Genna, was the first to be examined by Maester Aemon. He had wiped the caked-on dirt from her face, revealing a ruddy complexion. Her hair was dark and tangled. She looked more put-upon by the situation than terrified. 

Samwell assisted the Maester, applying a salve to the men’s wounds. The red-haired wilding, proudly calling himself Tormund Giantsbane, batted Samwell’s hand away. He dumped the lemon elixir given to all of them and barked for ale instead. He leered at Brienne in a way that made her recede into the shadows. When Tormund finally let Maester Aemon reset his dislocated shoulder, the man had no reaction to the painful manipulation of his bones. 

A terrified Sansa remained close to her brother’s side, and when he was needed elsewhere, she sought Brienne. The two of them were seated at a table, listening as the bruised and battered men began to tell the story of their trip beyond the wall. Denys, they said, was a walking corpse. The surviving members of the Night’s Watch proclaimed the wildings had joined forces with them, drawing murmurs from the crowd. Sansa gripped Brienne’s arm at the mention of other creatures – skeletons that moved slowly but refused to die and even children with hollow, blue eyes and rotted skin. 

Jaime stood from his seat. He cleared his throat and addressed the wildings, telling them, “I have been given no reason to suspect you have evil intentions here. You will have a roof over your heads until you decide to leave.” His gaze lingered on Tormund as he said, “Or until you give me reason to put you on the other side of the gate.” 

Men of the Night’s Watch scoffed at the decision, slamming their horns of ale on the table and leaving the hall. Sansa noticed that Jaime’s eyes sought Brienne, and that Brienne’s slight smile and nod of her head seemed to be what he needed to uphold his ruling. 

* 

The Lord Commander’s solar lacked its usual warmth, having been abandoned unexpectedly. Jaime rekindled the flames in the hearth and picked up the discarded goblets of wine. He intended to refill them, but caught sight of Brienne through the corner of his eye. She had begun to collect her few belongings. “What are you doing?” he asked. 

She stilled, rotating slowly to face him. “I can sleep in the cells beneath your chambers.” 

“Why?” 

“I appreciate the effort to make me more comfortable, but this was the second time you had an unplanned visitor.” 

Jaime dismissed her concern with a roll of his eyes. He picked up the ewer to pour more wine. “Jon Snow will keep his mouth shut. He is not a gossip.” 

Brienne said, “Still. I should go.” 

He set the ewer down with unnecessary force. “What if I don’t want you to?” he asked. 

Her brows knitted closer together, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and drew in a shaky breath. 

Jaime considered course-correcting the desperation in his voice with an insult. But he resumed pouring wine into each goblet and asked, his tone genial, “If you go, who will drink with me in the middle of the night?” 

* 

The mood in the common hall during the first meal of the day was morose. The men of the Night’s Watch felt the absence of their fallen brothers, and they glared at the wildings for their brazen disregard of their grief; the wilding men slurped porridge straight from bowls and carried on bawdy conversations at their table. 

Jaime announced that he’d sent a raven to King’s Landing, relaying the sighting of White Walkers and appealing to King Tommen for help. His meal was interrupted several times by men who approached him, volunteering for the next mission. As the hall cleared, he wrongly surmised that Jon took a seat at the Lord Commander’s table to add his name to the list. Instead, the young ranger again pleaded to be released from his vows. 

Brienne sat at an angle to make her eavesdropping less pronounced. She listened as Jon explained how fearful Sansa was, and how desperate they both were to rescue their home and salvage the Stark legacy. Especially in the face of unimaginable threats. He tried to convince Jaime that if he were allowed to reclaim Winterfell, he would reclaim the Houses that had always been loyal to House Stark. He would have an army to help battle the White Walkers if the time ever came. 

“Please, Lord Commander,” Jon pleaded. He asked again in the training yard, in the armory, and over a meal of mutton stew. Each time, Jaime turned him down. 

* 

Sansa, forlorn, asked Brienne to walk her back to the King’s Tower. Neither spoke until Sansa asked, “Lady Brienne, will you talk to the Lord Commander on our behalf?” 

She knew the young woman feared for her safety near the wall and feared for her family’s legacy in Winterfell. “I will, but I have no sway with him.” 

Sansa scoffed at the notion. 

“What?” Brienne asked. The way the other woman looked at her was concerning – eyebrows raised, a smirk. “Did Jon tell you something about me and Jaime?” 

“No, but I would like to know what you _think_ he may have told me.” She held a smile for a moment. She dropped the teasing tone and said, “I’ve seen him look to you. For confirmation, perhaps. I don’t know what’s happened in our time here for him to grow to trust you, Lady Brienne, but I can see that he does.” 

* 

As she settled in for the night, Brienne decided the strangest thing to occur in the previous days was not the arrival of wildings or even the threat of White Walkers. It was the realization the Kingslayer had become a fair and compassionate leader, and that she admired him for it. She didn’t hear him say goodnight, distracted by her thoughts, and replied with a delayed, “Goodnight, Jaime.” 

He failed to close the door to his sleeping cell all the way and Brienne caught a glimpse of his naked backside as he changed his clothes. She looked away with a shamed gasp only to slowly shift her gaze back to the small slant of space. She held her breath as she watched the muscles in Jaime’s broad back flex as he removed his tunic, leaving himself without a stitch of clothing. 

Heat pooled between Brienne’s legs as she took in the sight of him – lean and taut. _I’ve seen him look to you._ She squeezed her thighs together, at first to squelch her reaction and then because the friction satisfied the pleasant, unrelenting pressure there. Her breath hitched as she watched Jaime cover himself with smallclothes and retreat to the bed. She turned away, sinking down to her knees on the bedroll. 

Brienne had touched herself before, but she could hardly recall the last time she’d had the urge to do so. The fact that it was Jaime Lannister – the Kingslayer – who stirred such feelings confounded her. She wondered if entertaining her confusing attraction to him, just once, would put an end to it. She hiked her shift up to her hip and slid her hand beneath her smallclothes. She hesitated before rubbing against her warm, damp flesh. Her teeth pinched her bottom lip as she increased the pressure and pace, intent on releasing the tension and chasing away lustful thoughts toward Jaime. 

Unbeknownst to Brienne, he had decided it was too cold and got up to retrieve a tunic. At first glance she seemed to be simply kneeling on the floor, gazing at the fire – praying, perhaps. But Jaime noticed the jerky movement of her right arm and the rigid set of her shoulders, and when he quieted his own breath, he could hear Brienne’s - soft, strained grunts. 

His cock twitched and he felt shameful for watching, but did not stop. Jaime shoved the smallclothes down low around his hips, releasing his cock and stroking himself. He had to swallow a moan as he watched Brienne bend forward, bracing her left hand on the floor and widening the space between her knees. She exposed the strong, pale backs of her thighs as she climaxed. Her body trembled before going limp as she let herself unfurl onto the floor. 

Jaime quickly moved from the doorway. He leaned against the wall and spit into his hand, pumping his cock. Every muscle in his body was clenched with need and the tension that had been broiling between them. He had always been well-practiced at coming quietly, but Jaime lifted his left arm across his face to muffle his choked breath as he spilled into his hand. He went slack against the wall and remained there a long while. Beads of sweat glistened on his skin and he no longer felt the draft that had drawn him from his bed. 

* 

The wan light reached Jaime’s room and he knew Brienne was awake and had opened the curtains. He considered remaining in his bed, plastered there by shame and confusion. But he dressed and the door squeaked as he pulled it all the way open. 

She too was dressed, her tunic tucked into her breeches, and seated in one of the chairs by the hearth. Their eyes locked and her cheeks became tinged with pink. 

Jaime was certain she could see his indecent behavior and the obscene thoughts that clouded his mind. He was certain she could smell it on him. 

Brienne’s voice trembled as she leaned forward to pick up a scroll and said, “This was left for you.” 

He welcomed the distraction and took the scroll from her, breaking the seal. 

She watched his face as he read. She smiled when he released a quick laugh and grinned. “Who is it from?” she asked, and then promptly added, “If you don’t mind.” 

Jaime sat down near her. He was shaking his head as he said, “My father.” He paused, looking at her. 

Brienne pressed her thighs together and tucked her bottom lip under her teeth. 

“You know,” he said, “if anyone hates you it’s my father.” 

“What?” 

“For not marrying me. He has to rely on Tyrion for heirs.” 

Brienne’s thoughts drifted to Jon and Sansa, and in an effort to stop thinking about the pleasure she’d taken in seeing Jaime’s nude body, Brienne turned the conversation to them. “That reminds me,” she said, straightening her spine. “I understand why you want Jon to stay. He is a good ranger and a good fighter. He took an oath.” 

“But?” he prompted after a long stretch of silence. 

“But for all he and Sansa know, they are the only living Starks. Their home has been overtaken by a monster. I don’t wish to betray Lady Sansa’s trust, but she survived a horrible ordeal at Ramsay Bolton’s hands. _Horrible_. She wants Jon back for the sake of their House, but if you will not agree... I will go in his place.” 

Jaime bristled at the idea of Brienne leaving. He tried to temper his reaction, replacing his panic at the idea with thoughtful consideration. He understood; if Jon left the Night’s Watch and reclaimed their home, he would be the Lord of Winterfell. He would lead many loyal houses and could amass an army. The more Jaime thought about it, the more he wondered if Jon Snow was more of an asset to the brotherhood if he left. 

He stood up. “Alright. I’ll speak with Jon today. I’ll release him from his vows.” 

Brienne smiled. 

Jaime’s chest tightened as he realized that whether Jon left or remained in the Night’s Watch, Brienne was going to leave. She was pledged to Lady Sansa and would not break that promise. He was surprised by how he felt at the notion of her being gone – empty, dark. “I’ll release him... if you stay."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne makes a decision about leaving Castle Black. A third party intervenes when that decision causes tension between her and Jaime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The previous chapter was posted under the influence of pain meds from dental surgery. I mistakenly posted an older version of the chapter (which has been remedied). To clear things up, Cersei and the late Robert ARE King Tommen's parents. The only heirs Tywin wants for are Lannister heirs. 
> 
> This chapter is posted under the influence of COVID-19 anxiety, so I'll blame any new mistakes on that!

Brienne stared at Jaime, not blinking. Not breathing. She stood slowly on unsteady legs. “If _I_ stay?” 

He drew in an audible breath and exhaled with an awkward laugh, dispelling the neediness in his plea. “An exchange, if you will,” he said. 

She answered with an imperceptible shake of her head. 

He shrugged. “Soldier for soldier.” 

Brienne scoffed. “I’m not a soldier.” 

“I’ve seen you wield a sword, Brienne.” He folded his arms. “I’m sorry, but I can’t release Jon Snow without someone to take his place.” 

“There are three wilding men who-” 

“I cannot trust them. I'm losing men left and right!” 

Brienne looked away from him, considering the motivation behind his request. She was stunned by her attraction to Jaime and her comfort around him. She had prepared herself for his hostility or complete disregard, and it was far better to have earned his respect. It hardly mattered, though; nothing more could happen between them. He was sworn to the Night’s Watch and she to Sansa. She could not break her oath to only ever touch herself on the floor of the Lord Commander’s solar while he slept on the other side of the wall from her. When her eyes returned to his face, they were glossy with tears that she did not let spill. “I made an oath to Catelyn Stark that I would not only find but protect her daughter. I cannot break that promise. To her or to Sansa.” 

Jaime was silent a moment. Even in death a Stark could ruin everything. He sighed, shrugging as he said, “Then Snow stays.” 

* 

Samwell Tarly retreated to the vaults for the day where he devoured every text written about White Walkers and wights. Tormund and the other wilding men banded together with the First Ranger and First Steward, providing insight on the lay of the land and every known encounter with the blue-eyed creatures. Sansa, inconsolable and fearful, took to caring for Genna and her unborn child. 

Jaime had been aware of everyone’s activity. Everyone but Brienne. By nightfall, he was sore from practicing in the yard and exhausted from selecting the next round of men to venture beyond the wall. He climbed the stairs to his solar, looking forward to wine and conversation with her. As he reached the landing outside his door, he came face to face with a resolute Brienne. She was clutching the bag of her belongings to her chest. “Where are you going?” he asked. 

“Downstairs. I’m going to sleep in the cells,” she said. She had been frightened by his request for her to remain at Castle Black – alarmed by how badly she wanted to and confused by the nature of his motivation. 

Jaime winced. “You don’t have to do that.” 

“I know. I want to.” 

He blocked her exit, holding her steely gaze for a long while. He hated Brienne for awakening a part of him that had long been dormant, and Jaime hated himself for being drawn to her. Just as he’d hated himself years ago for growing to like the idea of being her husband. She hadn’t been privy to his truest, deepest feelings then and she wasn’t presently. She was right to be cross – as far as Brienne knew, he'd reduced her to barter. 

She bit down on the inside of her cheek in an attempt to still the quiver of her chin. 

Jaime stepped aside, letting her go. 

* 

The raven came at the start of the evening meal. Edd delivered it to Jaime’s table without fanfare, and Jaime ignored it to finish the food on his plate. He picked it up and broke the seal – the Lannister lion – while he swallowed the last of his ale. As he read, a hush fell over the room as more people began to take note of his troubled expression. 

He stood from his chair. He didn’t have to command the room’s attention; they were already looking. Jaime saw Brienne lean sideways for an unobstructed view, and he kept his eyes trained on her as he spoke. “The King is dead.” He paused to allow for the gasps and murmurs, and for his own shock to subside. His voice quaked as he said, “King Tommen took his own life. My sis- Cersei is to be crowned Queen of the Seven Kindgoms.” 

Those among the crowd who had always been loyal to House Baratheon were grief-stricken and angry. A scant few began a chant of, “All hail the Queen!” Jaime slumped down into his seat. He’d never met his nephews or niece and he never would. They were all gone, and he could only imagine the pain Cersei was in. He saw a shadow fall across the table and lifted his head to see Brienne. 

She stood with her hands folded behind her back. Her posture was rigid and formal, but when she said, “I’m sorry to hear of Tommen’s passing,” there was a softness in her voice that gave him comfort. 

Jaime couldn’t find the words to ask Brienne to stay. To lend her counsel. To help him decipher what he had not read aloud from the scroll; that a Targaryen – the daughter of Aerys – had been gradually building an army to take the throne she believed rightfully belonged to her, and that Tyrion had become her most loyal supporter. Notably absent from the scroll was any mention of the horrors taking place at The Wall and any offer of the help he’d requested in his raven to King’s Landing. 

It seemed a war with the White Walkers was not the only war brewing in Westeros. The battle for the throne was taking precedence in the south. Jaime couldn’t afford to lose another man, but he couldn’t let the capital of the north remain in the hands of Ramsay Bolton – a man who was loyal only to himself. He couldn’t let another family dwindle down to nothing to satisfy his own desires. 

* 

Jaime earned odd looks from the men guarding the King’s Tower as he breached the doors. He climbed the stairs, bypassing the ranger stationed outside the rooms where Sansa and Jon slept, to knock on the door himself. 

A moment later Jon opened the door. Behind him, Sansa looked up from her seat at a table where she had been repairing a tear in her brother’s cloak. 

“May I come in?” Jaime asked. 

Jon stepped aside, pulling the door open wider to allow him entrance. 

Jaime stood with his hands behind his back. It took him a long while to say, “Jon Snow, I am releasing you from your vows.” 

The chair Sansa occupied squeaked on the floor as she pushed back to stand. The garment she’d been sewing slid from the table and landed softly at her feet. 

“Do you mean that?” Jon asked. 

Jaime nodded. He reached out, clasping his hands over the younger man’s shoulders. “Get your house intact and be ready to fight with us. If it comes to that.” 

Jon stood tall. “Yes, Lord Commander.” 

The room was silent until Jaime sighed. He moved to shake Jon’s hand. He offered Sansa a courtly nod and turned, leaving them to celebrate the opportunity to take back their home. 

* 

It became increasingly clear to Sansa that something had driven a wedge between Jaime and Brienne. Something had disturbed the already fragile bond they’d developed, and she was certain it was the decision to leave for Winterfell. 

As she, Jon, and Brienne spent a handful of days strategizing and sending ravens to Houses they hoped were still loyal to the Starks, Sansa observed how Brienne’s mood was particularly bleak. The warrior was more stoic than usual and it was the first time Sansa ever felt like she was keeping Brienne from something she wanted for herself. 

Something or someone. 

* 

Samwell found Jaime in the armory and said, “Lady Sansa has requested your presence in the common hall, Lord Commander.” 

Jaime surmised it was time for Brienne and the Stark siblings to take their leave. He nodded and set the axe he’d sharpened back into place on the wall. He picked his cloak up from where he’d tossed it over a table and put it on as he followed Samwell out into the yard. He was puzzled when Samwell directed him to the common hall. 

He reached the hall and found Sansa seated at a table with Brienne and Jon. “Lord Commander,” Sansa greeted him. “Will you please join us?” 

Jaime eyed the scene cautiously. He and Brienne had largely been ignoring one another as she prepared to leave; if he sat down across from her at the table it would be as close as he'd been to her since she stopped sleeping in his solar. He took a seat next to Jon and folded his hands, waiting. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Sansa said, “about how much Brienne has done for my family. I wouldn’t be here right now without her.” 

Brienne protested, “Lady Sansa, you didn’t need me to-” 

Sansa reached over and rested her hand gently on Brienne’s arm. “It’s the truth, Lady Brienne. Yes, I managed to escape Ramsay but if you hadn’t found me, I don’t know where I’d be.” She removed her hand and looked at Jaime. “I have my brother to protect me now. I think Brienne should stay at Castle Black, if you’ll have her.” 

Brienne shifted in her seat. She opened her mouth to protest but no sound emerged. 

“Lady Sansa, I don’t believe Brienne wants to stay,” Jaime said. 

Sansa looked at her friend. “Jon will be with me. The realm needs you now, Brienne, more than I do. I’ll always be grateful for your help but I... I must release you from your oath. I’ll feel safer knowing you are here to keep those creatures from breaching The Wall.” 

Brienne’s chin quivered. She chanced a look at Jaime and he said, “I agree with Lady Sansa.” He paused to take a shaky breath. “The realm needs you here.” 

“You need an army to take Winterfell,” Brienne noted. 

Jon stepped in to say, “We have already received ravens back from House Glover and House Umber and have sent many more. I have no reason to think House Tully will not support our efforts.” He looked at Brienne. “I thank you for keeping your promise to Catelyn. And for keeping my sister safe and bringing her here to me. We would be honored to have you fight alongside us.” 

Jaime clenched his teeth and considered kicking the younger man under the table. 

“But,” Jon went on, to Jaime’s relief, “I agree with Sansa. I’ll feel better about leaving if I know you are here to fight with my brothers.” 

Several minutes passed, the air thick with suspense. Brienne took a deep breath and said, “If you’re certain, Lady Sansa, I will... I will remain here.” 

Sansa watched Jaime for his reaction. She took note of the way his hands, clenched into fists, relaxed on the tabletop. She saw the hint of a smile peeking out from his beard. She smiled herself and said, “I am certain.” 

* 

Brienne felt unmoored in the days following Sansa’s departure from Castle Black. It had been a long while since she’d not been pledged to serve someone – first Renly, then Catelyn, and finally Sansa. She slept later and went to bed earlier, alone on the first floor of the Lord Commander’s Tower. She avoided Tormund in the yard and Jaime everywhere. It was too great a risk to resume sleeping in his solar – for his reputation and for her sanity. 

Her new purpose was to fight the White Walkers, but they still had much to learn before they could take action. She read with Samwell in the vaults and trained with the men in the yard, but it wasn’t enough. 

In the hours before dusk, when the sky was only slightly less gray and gloomy, Brienne spotted Genna sitting alone on the stairs of the King’s Tower. She approached the wilding woman, wanting to ask her specific questions about their mutual enemy. As she neared Genna, it became clear to Brienne that the woman was in pain – she was biting down on her bottom lip, leaning forward, and sweat beaded on her forehead. 

“Genna,” Brienne said, kneeling down at the wilding’s feet. She noticed the wet soaking through Genna’s breeches. “You need the Maester.” She moved to run and fetch him, but the woman reached out and clutched Brienne’s cloak. 

“No time,” Genna grunted. “Get me... get me... inside.” 

Brienne got Genna to her feet and through the doorway to the small, empty room at the foot of the tower, all the while shouting for help. Jaime was the first to respond, looking relieved that it was Genna and not Brienne in need of assistance. 

“I’ll get the Maester,” he said, winded. 

“No time,” Genna said again. “This is my... fourth babe.” 

Brienne’s eyes widened. She removed her cloak and bunched it behind Genna’s head as Jaime removed his to cover the woman’s body. 

“Samwell is nearby,” Jaime said, leaning out to shout for the ranger they had come to think of as a Maester-in-training. 

Genna struggled to remove her breeches. She looked at Brienne and begged her, “Help me, will ya?” 

Nervous, Brienne reached under the cloak that covered Genna’s legs and first removed her boots, then the breeches. 

Samwell arrived, pale and breathless. He knelt at Genna’s feet, blushing at the prospect of lifting the blanket. 

“Go on,” she told him, each word a strained grunt. 

Samwell exhaled a heavy breath and pushed the cloak up above Genna’s bent knees. The baby was in a hurry, and while Genna pushed and panted, the young man guided the child out into the world. 

Brienne and Jaime stood on either side. They looked from the sweaty, grunting woman on the floor to each other. Neither could help but to smile broadly at the sound of the baby’s cries, and they each stepped forward to get a closer look at the squawking newborn as he was placed into his mother’s arms. 

Brienne lifted her gaze to Jaime at the same moment he sought her. They wore matching expressions – pained smiles, full of both longing and joy. The prospect of having children petrified Brienne as a young girl, but if she’d married Jaime it was likely she’d have produced the Lannister heir his father wanted so desperately. She wondered if Jaime shared the same fleeting thought about what could have happened if their lives had been lived together. 

* 

Jaime was reminded of the way his mother screamed when she birthed Tyrion and he’d been outside the door for the birth of two of Aerys Targaryen’s children. But the wilding baby was the first he’d seen come into the world. He was shaken by the magnitude of what had happened and everything it had made him feel. 

He walked out of his room to pour wine into a goblet and stopped short at the sight of the empty bedroll by the hearth. He knew it was improper, on multiple levels, to implore Brienne to sleep in his solar. So near to his bed. But Jaime missed the companionship. A confidant was a relationship he’d gone without for so long that he’d come to believe he didn’t need someone to talk to, to share with. The time she’d spent with him revealed otherwise. There was much to be said – his sister was to be crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and he needed to find a way to convince the throne to acknowledge the threat of the White Walkers as much as Daenerys Targaryen. He needed the women to set aside their disagreement over the line of succession and join together against the White Walkers. 

Jaime abandoned the wine and darted toward the door, intending to descend the stairs and confront Brienne. But before he made it all the way across the room there was a knock at the door. He cursed under his breath and stomped the rest of the way. He pulled the door open, exhaling a sigh of relief at the sight of Brienne. 

She was holding her bag of belongings and folded furs. She asked, “May I come in?” 

He nodded and stepped aside. 

Brienne smiled when she saw the bedroll was still in place on the floor. Without another word she spread the furs across it. Jaime, understanding the intent, fetched a pillow for her. He poured wine into two goblets as she hung her cloak by the door. They each took a seat by the hearth, neither acknowledging the recent tension as they settled in. 

“My warning to King’s Landing has been ignored,” Jaime stated. “I need to send another raven. This time I can appeal directly to Cersei.” 

Brienne pinched her lips together. She wasn’t convinced the Queen and her council would be any more likely to help than young King Tommen and his council had been. The most likely scenario was that Cersei had been making decisions for the young king. It had been years since Jaime had observed his sister, and Brienne knew she was not the warm, caring ruler he perhaps expected her to be. He thought of her as a grieving mother, but Brienne suspected the new Queen had come to claim the throne under nefarious circumstances. 

“Will you help me?” he asked. “In the morning.” 

She agreed to the request with a nod. 

* 

The common hall was the largest space in all of Castle Black, but Jaime and Brienne occupied the same side of one table. She held the quill and Jaime dictated the content of the message to be sent to Queen Cersei. He was tilted toward her, leaning close to be able to read as she wrote. His knee bumped her thigh and he decided not to move, taking pleasure in the heat that pulsed between that point of contact. 

Brienne passed the quill to Jaime and he signed his name across the paper. He shifted even closer to silently read through it along with her. She finished first, looking at his profile. 

Jaime had to start reading from the beginning twice. He was distracted by how the slightest movement had pushed them closer together – thigh to thigh, hip to hip. He could hear the sound of his own heartbeat and wondered if Brienne could feel its erratic thrum in the places where their bodies touched? “I think it’s good. Do you agree?” he asked. 

“Yes. If this doesn’t convince her-” Brienne was interrupted as the door burst open, revealing Tormund as a gust of wind rattled the papers on the table. She had to slam her hand over the letter and risk smearing the ink to keep it from blowing away. 

The wilding approached them. “There you are,” he said to Brienne. "I’ve been looking for you. I need someone strong to help me chop wood to warm the tower. Or someone to share my bedroll.” 

“No,” Brienne told him. 

Tormund braced his large hands on the table, leaning toward her. “When you change your mind, you know where to find me.” His tongue swept along his bottom lip, wetting the wiry hairs of his unkempt beard. He moved away and exited the hall. 

“He’s relentless,” Jaime said, knowing it was not the first time Tormund had invited Brienne to his bed. 

“He’s foul,” she said. “I could see yesterday’s supper in his teeth.” 

Jaime laughed, amused and reassured by the disgust in her voice. “Well, then,” he said, changing the subject. “When the ink is dry, I will take this to the rookery.” 

* 

The men of the Night’s Watch dined on meat stew. Jaime’s bowl was untouched. At the end of the meal he had to announce the names of the men who would be sent beyond the wall. Most had volunteered for the mission, but some had not. Some he had to keep in the relative safety of Castle Black; Samwell Tarly’s research had been invaluable and he was not a born fighter. 

Jaime’s eyes scanned the crowd. He walked away from the table and toward where Brienne sat. “Lady Brienne,” he said, drawing her attention away from the bread she tore in half, “would you please join me at my table?” 

She looked up at him, blinking. She blushed and stuttered, “Y-yes, Lord Commander.” Brienne stood from her seat and picked up her bowl, carrying it as she followed behind Jaime and drew suspicious or angry looks from the men. 

He cleared a space for her beside him. Once they were both settled, only an inch of air between them, Jaime whispered, “I’m rather nervous. It feels like I’m sending my men to certain death.” 

Brienne moved her hand under the table to give his arm a reassuring squeeze. 

He only felt the weight of her palm and the clench of her fingers for a brief moment, but Jaime felt the warmth of her touch long after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for the nice comments and for taking the time to read. I promise the tension between Jaime and Brienne will not go on burning slowly for much longer!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samwell makes a discovery and a surprise attack on Castle Black draws Brienne and Jaime closer together.

Enough of the rangers, builders, and stewards had left Castle Black – forming a small army with the wildings – that it was alarmingly quiet. Half the common hall was unoccupied at meals. Jaime insisted the remaining men continue to train and Brienne joined them every day in the yard – sparring until she was bruised and bleeding, sweat soaking through the clothes beneath her armor. 

She found herself bathing more frequently and for longer stretches of time, sending Jaime down below his solar while she soaked her aching body in the warm water. The time spent naked made Brienne aware she was changing. The constant, intensive training and the meager portions of food – even with so many men gone – had made her body leaner. The muscles in her arms were more pronounced and her breeches were looser. She was more aware of her body and the way it reacted to stress and pain and even pleasure. 

The length of her baths had less to do with aches and pains and more to do with her feelings for Jaime. It was the only time she could be alone and allow herself to entertain the lustful thoughts that nagged at her through the days and nights. She was prone to closing her eyes, rolling a taut nipple between her thumb and forefinger, and imagining it was Jaime’s lips closing around the pink bud. The friction of her own hand rubbing furiously between her legs was a futile attempt to placate her attraction. 

* 

Brienne stepped away from the yard to catch her breath. She saw Genna carrying her baby against the front of her body, strapped there by various cloths and furs. When the wilding could see that Brienne’s hair was slicked back by sweat and her face ruddy from exertion, she came near with a waterskin. 

“Looks like you need this,” Genna said, handing it to her. 

“Thank you,” Brienne said as she lifted it to her lips and gulped the liquid. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. “Does he have a name yet?” she asked, looking at the baby. 

“No,” Genna stated. It had been said she was waiting to be reunited with the rest of her family. 

The women stood in amiable silence. They soon heard three distinct voices as rangers took a pause from sparring. The men were unaware that Brienne was nearby as one of them remarked, “I’m tired of her supposing she needs to teach us men how to fight.” Another complained that no woman should be wielding a sword, no matter how ugly. They all laughed and the third said, “Brienne of Tarth is no woman. I would donate my supper for a fortnight if one of you were brave enough to find out for sure.” There was more laughter, growing softer as they walked back toward the yard. 

“Pay them no mind,” Genna said. 

“I don’t,” Brienne told her. “All my life men like that have been waging coin over what’s between my legs or who could be the first to lay there. But they wouldn’t dare try.” 

Genna shifted closer, lowering her gruff voice. “You’re still maiden, Brienne of Tarth?” she asked. 

Brienne hesitated before affirming with a nod. 

“Plenty of men would fuck you because they want to,” Genna said. “Tormund would fuck you.” 

Brienne wrinkled her nose. 

“The Lord Commander would fuck you.” 

Brienne looked at Genna sharply. After a long pause she said, “No. Jaime does not feel that way about me.” 

Genna laughed, a bellow that made the baby stir and cry. “If you say so, Brienne of Tarth,” she said, shaking her head as she walked away. 

* 

The vault was a hollow space and Brienne’s voice echoed when she called out, “Samwell!” She carried a torch toward the library where she could typically find him devouring an ancient text. He’d hinted at something important in one of the books and she desired a break from sparring. Having no luck finding him, she removed her cloak and draped it over the back of the chair. 

Brienne sat down at the table littered with books. She lifted a heavy tome from the top of a pile. She opened it on the table and a cloud of dust erupted. Coughing, she waved her hand to clear the air. 

“Are you alright?” 

She startled at the sound of Jaime’s voice. Brienne took a breath to recover and twisted in the chair to look at him. “I’m fine. Is something the matter?” 

He shook his head. He placed his own torch on the opposite wall and removed his cloak. “I came to check on Samwell but he must be with the Maester again. I think we’ll lose him to the Citadel.” 

Brienne agreed with a nod. She gestured to the books on the table and said, “He told me this morning he found something useful.” 

“I hope it’s compelling enough to earn Cersei’s attention,” he remarked. 

“Perhaps our last raven was intercepted,” she offered. "Or perhaps...” 

Jaime lifted his hand to rest lightly on her shoulder as he gently prodded, “Or perhaps what?” 

The light weight of his palm scorched Brienne through the layers of her clothing. She scooted the chair back, forcing him to move. She hesitated, looking at the ground rather than at his face when she said, “I suspect the Queen may be ignoring your messages.” 

He scoffed at the suggestion. “Why would she ignore the news of White Walkers?” 

Brienne cringed as she said, “Out of spite, perhaps.” 

“There is no ill will between us.” 

“Out of disbelief then.” 

Jaime shook his head. “She would believe _me_.” 

Brienne pushed a frustrated breath between her teeth. She rotated to face him and said, “Your sister is...” 

He heaved a sigh, waiting. 

“She is... not beloved by her people. She has little regard for the smallfolk. She ordered Ned Stark’s death.” 

Jaime rolled his eyes. “Ned Stark was not without sin, Brienne. I don’t know what happened but-” 

“Catelyn said Ned had come upon some information that would have... distanced Cersei from the throne. Did you know she also put your brother on trial and drove him out of King’s Landing? Even when she knew he did not kill Joffrey.” 

He glared at her. He knew as well as anyone that Cersei had her faults. She knew how to manipulate a situation to her favor and had certainly told a slew of lies in their younger years. But Jaime had never thought her to be cruel. 

Brienne leaned against the edge of the table, distancing herself from what she perceived as his mounting anger. 

“I’ve informed the Queen that dangerous beings believed to be extinct have killed several of my men and you think she would ignore that? You don’t think she would be concerned about the threat they pose to the realm?” 

She looked down at her feet as he came toward her. 

“Brienne,” Jaime said. He paused, waiting. He clenched his hands into fists. “Brienne?” 

She let out a slight gasp of breath when she felt his fingers cup her chin, tilting her head back until their eyes met. The longer she remained silent the tighter his grasp became against her jaw. Brienne held her breath when he pushed his hips forward, holding her in place against the edge of the table. She closed her eyes as her senses were overwhelmed – her body flooded with heat, she smelled woodsmoke and sweat, and the sound of her heartbeat was magnified in the small space. 

Jaime had approached her out of irritation but could hardly remember what had rankled him. She was remarkably soft beneath his calloused skin. She was warm and solid where his body touched hers. He let go only enough to draw the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip. 

“Hello!” Samwell’s cheerful voice cut through the tension from afar. 

Jaime shifted backward and his movements were too abrupt not to garner suspicion as Samwell came upon them. 

Brienne realized she had been gripping the edge of the table and slowly released her hold on the wood. “H-hi,” she said. 

“I can leave,” Samwell offered. “I can come back later.” 

“No,” Jaime laughed, shaking his head. “Stay. We were both looking for you.” 

Brienne nodded. “Yes. Tell us what you found.” 

Samwell pointed to the table and Brienne, blushing, moved aside. He reached back and tugged a heavy book forward, opening it to a page he had marked. “I found this hidden in the pages,” he said, carefully picking up a worn piece of paper. “Most of the words are too faded to read, but I can make out Fist of the First Men here,” he said, pointing, “and here and here.” He looked at Jaime, hopeful. 

“The Fist of the First Men has always been important to the Night’s Watch,” Jaime said. “The men use it to orient themselves and it’s a fine fallback position if the Free Folk engage in combat.” 

“Yes,” Samwell agreed, “but that’s not what is being said here, Lord Commander. It’s something about weapons. I think there is something useful there.” 

“We can get word to-” 

Samwell straightened his spine. “I think I should go,” he said. 

Jaime smiled. “I appreciate the offer, Tarly, but the terrain is-” 

“Pardon the interruption, Lord Commander, but I believe strongly that I should go. I’ve been studying texts and scrolls and deciphering the words of the men who came before. I know better than anyone where to look.” 

Jaime glanced to Brienne as he had become prone to when faced with difficult decisions. She offered a slight nod and he told Samwell, “I’ll give this some thought and we can meet in the morning.” 

* 

The lingering tension between Jaime and Brienne was diffused somewhat by the task at hand – deciding if Samwell Tarly was fit to go beyond the wall to the Fist of the First Men. 

Jaime stood at the window looking at the monolith of ice that had been built to protect the realm. Behind him, Brienne sat near the hearth. For every reason he gave that Samwell should not leave Castle Black, she countered with an argument in favor of him. She was taken by surprise when Jaime turned and abruptly changed the subject, saying, “I apologize. For earlier. If I seemed angry.” 

Brienne straightened in her seat. “Seemed angry?” she repeated. “I think you _were_ angry, Jaime.” She stood. “I don’t blame you. I was speaking ill of your kin. But I was speaking the truth.” 

He considered her a long while, the weight of his stare making her fidget. “I’ve received cursory updates about my family, mostly from my father, through the years. Before I was Lord Commander, men would insult my relationsh-” He swallowed, shamed. “They would insult Cersei. If they told me something terrible about her I chose not to believe it.” He circled around the furniture that separated them to stand an arm’s length from her. “I think separation made it easy to idealize her. If I search my memories, I suppose it’s not hard to believe my sister could ignore the warnings.” 

Brienne offered a slight, sad smile. “We may not need the Queen,” she said in an attempt to be optimistic. 

“We may not need Samwell to go to the Fist of the First Men. Our brothers could walk through the gate with good news.” 

Her heart soared at the way Jaime said _our_ brothers. 

He raked one hand through his hair while the other scratched a phantom itch on his chest – he had to occupy both of his hands to keep from touching her. “That is what I’ll tell Samwell,” he said. “That we should wait a bit longer to take further action.” 

Brienne nodded in agreement. “In the meantime, I can train with him. Prepare him if the need should arise.” She knew it was a steep climb along rugged terrain, and she had seen Samwell yield a sword. 

“It’s settled then,” Jaime said, putting the conversation to rest. He wanted to say goodnight but his feet were planted to the floor. He knew it was wise to turn away but he couldn’t stop thinking about the softness of her skin and the texture of her lip. 

“Goodnight, Jaime,” Brienne said. 

He drew in a ragged breath. “Yes. Goodnight.” 

* 

One blast of the horn roused Jaime from sleep. He blinked his bleary eyes and when he was convinced there would be no more, he sat upright. He felt a wave of relief in spite of the urgency of that single, long blare of the horn – brothers were returning to Castle Black. 

It did not surprise Jaime when he emerged from his cell to find Brienne dressed and tying the laces of her boots. He removed both of their cloaks from the hooks on the wall and waited for her to finish. “You should go first,” she said, and he laughed softly at his propensity to forget the level of decorum they needed to keep up while Brienne always had it at the forefront of her thoughts. 

Jaime descended the stairs and exited the tower. The snow was falling at a brisk pace, clouding his vision of what lay ahead. He was greeted by several brothers waiting for him and soon heard Brienne’s voice as she approached the growing crowd. He gave the order to open the gate and his heart sank at the sight of only four men, two of them corpses. 

Tormund and the only returning steward were dragging the feet of the dead men through the snow. Their arms were weak and they had no choice but to let go, the corpses collapsing to the ground and sinking into the snow with a grating crunch. Jaime instructed a huddle of rangers to take the bodies to the sept while he encouraged everyone else to make their way to the hall. 

By the hearth, the only two survivors described their journey and the eventual attack that took the lives of the other men. Jaime was sickened by the story of the creatures, particularly the detail that nothing – not a single weapon in the great cache the men had taken with them – killed any of them. The two bodies brought back to Castle Black were the only two men not killed or captured by the White Walkers. 

Jaime turned around and faced Samwell. He was left with no choice but to pursue the ranger’s belief that something at the Fist of the First Men could save them. 

* 

Jaime and Brienne returned to his solar defeated by the latest loss. He retreated to his cell, needing to isolate himself to think. He’d lost so many men that he almost had to accompany Samwell, but Jaime was hard-pressed to think of a ranger, steward, or builder capable of taking over as Lord Commander if he never made it back. The only person, he thought, was Brienne. 

He closed his eyes and he began writing a new raven to Cersei in his head. Perhaps planting the idea that he – her beloved brother – was directly in danger would sway her to provide the help they needed. Sounds from the solar interrupted his thoughts and Jaime listened, trying to decipher the nature of the rustling. There was no question that a loud crash was reason for alarm and he scrambled out of bed, picking up his sword. 

“Jaime!” Brienne screamed, followed by more violent noises. 

He shoved the door to his sleeping cell open with such force that the hinges broke and it slammed onto the floor. He climbed over the slab of wood and rushed at the intruder holding Brienne against the wall. 

She tried to speak, to warn him, but a strong hand seized her throat. 

Jaime slashed the point of his sword across the man’s back. The intruder turned around and Jaime’s confusion nearly cost him the fight. He recognized the man as one of the corpses carried through the gate. He recovered from the shock and lunged, driving his sword into his one-time brother’s chest. The blow did not make the intruder so much as flinch. 

Behind them, Brienne swung her sword to no avail. Nothing hurt the man. 

“He’s a wight,” Jaime said just as the creature picked him up and threw him against the wall. His vision blurred and all he could hear was an incessant buzz. He knew Brienne was in trouble and rolled onto his knees, reaching out until he felt a hard surface to hold onto, pulling himself up from the floor. Jaime swayed and blinked, and as his eyes were able to focus, he realized he was alone in the room. He heard what sounded like a fall down the stairs and grabbed a burnt-out torch from the wall, stopping to re-light it from the hearth. 

Jaime hurried down the stairs and came upon a nightmare – the wight straddled Brienne on the ground, choking her. He raised the torch above his head and brought it down against the creature’s back. 

The wight released its hold on Brienne and she recognized pain on its face. She gave the heavy body a shove, rolling out from under it while Jaime continued to beat the creature with the burning torch. The wight flailed as flames crawled along its entire body, burning it down to ash. 

Jaime locked eyes with Brienne, but the relief they felt was short-lived as they shared the same panicked thought – there was another. Their fears were confirmed when they heard a faraway scream and followed the sound outside and to the Flint Barracks. Two bodies crashed through the wood railing and fell to the ground from the second floor. 

The second wight easily stood while the injured ranger clutched his chest. It knocked the torch from Jaime’s hand and the flame died against the snow-covered ground. The Lord Commander withstood a punch to the face and one to the gut as Brienne took off to find the nearest torch. Men spilled down the stairs of the barracks, swords drawn, but all they accomplished was giving Jaime relief from the wight’s assault as the creature turned on them. 

“Move!” Brienne screamed, holding a torch and pushing her way through the men. She swung at the wight’s head and then its stomach, and the creature shrieked as its flesh dissolved to bone and finally to ash. 

The men, dumbfounded, could only stare at her. 

“Fire,” she said, breathing heavily. “Nothing else worked.” 

Tormund stepped forward and several of the men lunged at him, thinking he’d purposely brought the corpses through the gate to destroy Castle Black and the Night’s Watch. Jaime put a stop to the fighting and ordered the men to dress and fetch the Maester to tend to the wounded. He sent other men to walk the grounds. He looked at Brienne and began to ask after her, but two men hollered for him as they ran through the snow. 

“The Maester!” 

“What happened?” Jaime asked. 

One of the men said, “They killed Maester Aemon!” 

Men began to return from their rounds, reporting Genna and the baby were safe but several men – those who guarded the doors to the towers – were dead in the snow. 

Jaime made the gut-wrenching call – they would have to burn the bodies of the dead. 

* 

The smoke from the funeral pyre could still be seen as daylight broke through the inky black sky. Jaime encouraged the men to eat something in the common hall, but most returned to the barracks. He couldn’t see Brienne among the crowd. Concerned, his pulse raced until he spotted her entering his tower. 

He followed in her wake and found her standing at the top of the stairs, looking in at his ravaged solar. “Is it bad?” Jaime asked, and he saw the slight shake of her head before she stepped inside. He closed and barred the door behind them, surveying the mess for himself. One of the chairs was broken and when the wight had Brienne against the wall, she had torn one of the brocade drapes down. 

Jaime walked toward the door he had broken in his haste to help Brienne. He bent down, dragging it to the far-side of the room while she collected the broken pieces of the chair. They met in the middle of the room, and it was the first time they had been still since the attack began. It was the first time either of them had been able to take a closer look at the other’s injuries, and Jaime winced at the marks around her neck. 

The Maester was dead, but the Lord Commander’s solar was always stocked with a small supply of bandages and salves. “Come with me,” Jaime said. 

Brienne followed him across the room but hesitated in the doorway to his sleeping cell. She took a deep breath and entered the space. 

“Have a seat,” he told her, gesturing to the bed. 

She slowly lowered herself onto the soft mattress and folded her hands on her lap. 

Jaime set a small box beside her. He stood in front of her, his thighs pressed against her knees. “May I?” he asked, tugging on the knot holding her tunic closed. Brienne nodded and he loosened the ties, cringing at the red marring her pale skin. She flinched when Jaime touched the bruising and he asked, fearful, “Did I hurt you?” 

“N-no,” she replied. 

He offered a slight smile before reaching toward the box, removing the lid to a glass bottle. He poured the thick liquid inside onto the small square of cloth and blotted that gently against the marks around Brienne’s neck. She had a small cut near her left eye, but the bleeding had stopped. He used his finger to dab some ointment on the wound. Jaime took a step back and said, “Give me your hands.” 

Brienne trembled as she raised her arms, showing him her bruised knuckles. He applied the same gentle touch there, cradling each hand in his palm. She looked up and saw a smear of blood at his lip; the cut had opened. “Here,” she said, taking the cloth from him. She stood and was nearly flush against Jaime’s body until he took a step back. “You sit.” 

Jaime obliged, spreading his knees to give her room to stand. He pressed his hands into the bed and tilted his head slightly as Brienne blotted the cloth against each cut on his face. He sucked a sharp breath between his teeth and she said, “Sorry,” with such a soft, kind voice that he felt the sting of tears in his eyes. He could hardly remember the last time he’d been touched with such care. Looked after. Tended to. 

“There,” she said, punctuating her work. Before she could move, she felt Jaime’s hands close around her hips. She tried to pry his fingers away, but he scooted toward the edge of the bed and drew his legs together, locking her in. 

He leaned forward and pressed his face into the roughspun fabric of her tunic. He could feel her – solid and warm – beneath him. With every breath Jaime could smell and taste sweat and fire and blood. 

Brienne let her arms hang limp at her sides. She could feel his warm, damp breath. Her lingering pain was overshadowed by the pressure of his hands and head and the pleasurable tingle along her spine. He burrowed closer, his head shifting up until she felt him pressed between her breasts. She found the strength to lift her hands to his shoulders, pushing without much force as she whispered, “Jaime.” She had meant for it to sound like a scolding, but it was a needy, breathy whisper. 

He locked his hands together at the small of her back. He tilted his head just enough to look up at her face. “Don’t leave,” he said. 

Brienne saw the shine of tears in his eyes. She brushed her fingers through his hair. “I’m not. I won’t.” 

He let go of her and maneuvered to recline across the bed. He patted the empty space beside him. 

There was only enough room for Brienne to rest on her side, and she settled there with her back to him. She held in a gasp of breath when Jaime shifted behind her, hooking one arm around her waist and resting his head between her shoulder blades. 

* 

Jaime opened his eyes to dour gray light. He had no sense of the time of day, only that it was not night. He was momentarily startled by the weight of Brienne’s leg thrown across his. As he recalled tending to each other’s wounds, the presence and position of her body became a thrilling comfort. She was asleep on her stomach, using his bicep as a pillow. One of her arms was stretched across his torso. Her leg was resting between his. He looked down at the crown of her head, resisting the urge to stroke his fingers through the soft, flaxen strands. 

Time passed and Jaime knew his attention was needed elsewhere, but he couldn’t bring himself to disturb Brienne’s sleep or their closeness. He gently picked up her hand where it rested near his hip. His thumb stroked her palm and he felt her stir. 

Brienne’s eyes fluttered open. She lifted her head, bleary eyes pointed at Jaime. It took a moment for her to register the situation, but when she did, she quickly disentangled from him. “Oh,” she said, clumsily getting to her feet, “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” he said, smiling. 

She touched her neck. 

“Is it quite painful?” Jaime asked. 

She shrugged. “It could be worse,” Brienne said, turning to leave the room. 

“I have to go,” he blurted. 

She paused in the doorway. “Go?” 

“With Samwell. To the Fist of the First Men.” 

Brienne rotated to face him, leaning against the door-less frame. 

“I can’t send him alone. And we would never be able to defeat every White Walker and wight with only fire. But there is only one person I can trust to take my place here.” 

Her eyes narrowed, questioning. 

“You,” Jaime said. 

Brienne’s lips parted. She stammered to say, “N-no. That would never work. Not all of the men would take orders from me. From a woman.” 

He heaved a sigh. She was right – it was a risk to leave her in command as much as it was for him to go. “I suppose I could send-” 

“I’ll go,” Brienne interjected. 

The words propelled Jaime to his feet. 

“I’ve been training with him, and if he’s not able to fight I can do it for the both of us. _You_ are the Lord Commander, Jaime. You should stay.” 

His chest tightened, but underneath the dread Jaime felt proud; Brienne was acknowledging his success at Castle Black. She had come around to thinking of him as the Lord Commander rather than the Kingslayer. He knew she was the best person for the mission, and if he refused the offer it would be for his own selfish reasons. “Yes,” he said, and the words he spoke carried a sour taste, “you should go with Samwell.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Samwell leave for the Fist of the First Men, leaving Jaime to pretend he is not worried about her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought quarantine would have me writing non-stop. Instead it's been a constant battle between anxiety and the things I'd like to be doing with my time. This chapter isn't what I'd imagined it would be a few weeks ago, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

Jaime had not bothered to repair the broken door. He sat on the edge of his bed and looked out into his solar, watching Brienne as she prepared to leave for the Fist of the First Men. He found the ritual of her dressing in armor to be hypnotic and sensual – her teeth pinched her bottom lip in concentration and her long, graceful fingers handled each piece with reverence. She tightened the scabbard around her hips, the final step, and Jaime closed his hand into a fist and pushed against the constant ache in his chest. 

Brienne caught his stare and her breath snagged in her throat. “Well,” she said. 

He stood and took only enough steps to be in the same room as her. She was armed and armored – a soldier going off to war. “The horses are ready,” Jaime told her. “You have the map?” 

She nodded. 

“Be careful.” 

She nodded again. She lingered a while longer, and when nothing more was said Brienne bid a final farewell with one nod of her head. 

Jaime watched her turn and open the door. He heard her the tap of her boots as she descended the stairs. He counted each step – one, two, three, four – and cursed under his breath before he bolted across the room. “Wait,” he said, following her path. 

Brienne paused and turned to look at Jaime standing one step above her, making him the taller of the two. “Did I forget something?” she asked. He nodded and she could feel his eyes tracing the contours of her face. Her lips parted with another question, but she was rendered mute by the nearness of him. Brienne flinched when he lifted his arms, but she was steadied by the clasp of Jaime's hands when he framed her face. 

He bent his head and pressed his lips to hers. There was no hesitation, no mistaking the gesture for anything other than a kiss goodbye as his tongue grazed the seam of her mouth. She opened to him and lifted her arms, stiffened from the constraints of the armor, to grasp fistfuls of his tunic. His quiet moan vibrated against the back of Brienne’s throat and she felt his beard scratch the soft skin around her mouth. He let go with his hands first and then his lips, releasing her with a mournful sigh. 

She stared at him. Every nerve, trapped beneath steel, tremored in the wake of his kiss. Brienne felt a wave of anger – at his timing, at the barriers between her body and Jaime’s. It passed quickly and she blushed and smiled. 

“Goodbye, Brienne,” he whispered. 

“Goodbye, Jaime.” She rotated away from him, one hand on the wall to steady her weakened legs. 

He watched her slow descent down the remainder of the stairs. Jaime bounded back up into the solar and rushed to the window where he could see Brienne leave footprints in the snow as she met Samwell by the horses. 

* 

The night of Brienne’s departure, Jaime woke thinking he’d heard one blast of the horn signaling her and Samwell’s return to Castle Black. He flung the furs to the foot of the bed and threw his legs over the side to stand. He collapsed into a seated position, deflated, when he realized the improbability of a hasty return. 

He resigned himself to being awake for the duration of the night and walked out into the solar. Jaime’s eyes landed on the empty bedroll by the hearth. Even as he poured wine, his gaze was drawn there. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that Brienne was a warrior. She had taken down strong, powerful men and survived gruesome battles. She had recent experience fighting wights. 

Jaime crossed the room and stood beside the bedroll, giving it a nudge with his bare foot. He knew Brienne was probably more capable of the task at hand than anyone, him included, but that failed to ease his concern. He drained the wine and discarded the goblet. Jaime bent his knees until he felt the soft cushion of her bedding beneath him. He maneuvered onto his back, stretching his legs out, and closed his eyes. 

With each breath he took, Jaime could smell her – the sandalwood oil-infused lye she used to bathe, the sweetness of the figs she hoarded on the rare occasions they appeared as part of a meal. Sweat and steel. He was reminded of the way Brienne tasted and the softness of her lips. He drifted to sleep imagining how it would be to kiss her without the barrier of armor. 

* 

The climb was made worse by the wind. It whistled in Brienne’s ears and chapped her skin and pushed against her with force. She dug her heels in the slope of rock and snow to crane her head, checking on Samwell. “Do you need to rest?” she asked, shouting above the angry shriek of the wind. 

He replied with a grunt. Samwell caught up to her and said, “No. Keep going.” 

If the map was correct, they were coming upon a flat tract of land. Brienne let him get ahead of her. She narrowed her stride and slowed her pace. If he stumbled, it was better if she was behind Samwell and could try to break his fall. 

* 

Men filtered out of the hall until Jaime was alone with Edd. He asked his First Steward to bring parchment, an inkpot, and quill. 

His intention was to send yet another raven – another plea for help – to Cersei. But when Jaime dipped the quill in the ink, he found himself addressing the letter to his brother. He told Tyrion about the White Walkers and the wights and the loss of so many brothers in the Night’s Watch. _I understand your loyalty does not lie with our sister_ , he wrote, _but I wonder if you are better equipped to explain the danger the realm is in._

Jaime signed the parchment and called Edd back into the room. “Seal this and send it right away,” he instructed. 

“Yes, Lord Commander.” 

“Edd,” Jaime called out. 

The other man paused at the door. “Yes?” he asked, turning around. 

“Has there been any...” Jaime’s words trailed. He knew it was pointless to ask after Brienne and Samwell. He would be told of their return along with the other man – by the blast of the horn. “Never mind.” 

Edd hesitated. “Lord Commander,” he said carefully, “I trust Tarly and Lady Brienne will be successful. I expect to hear the horn and see the gates open any day now.” 

* 

She was numb to the cold after spending days exposed to the elements, but the air was thick and settled heavy in Brienne's lungs. She stopped to wait for Samwell. He caught up to her on a plateau and collapsed to his knees, wheezing and red-faced. She could read defeat in the way his body went slack, until suddenly his eyes widened and brightened. “What is it?” she asked. 

“There!” Samwell shouted, pushing up out of the snow to point and stand. 

Brienne followed his gaze but only saw an endless stretch of white and cold and more hills to climb. 

He took off, stumbling and crawling the rest of the way to his destination. 

Her boots crunched across the snow. “What is it?” Brienne asked again as she caught up to him. Samwell was clawing at the snow, digging his way to something. She began to make out the shape and color of a large stone poking out from beneath the perpetual bed of snow. She dropped to her knees to help him lift one side, grunting as they flipped it over. 

“It looks like my cloak,” he said, staring down at a folded black cloth tied together with rope. 

Brienne pushed against the cloth and felt something hard. She picked it up out of the hole with both hands and set it on the ground. She withdrew her dagger. The rope had been hardened by time and cold. The blade sawed against it until it snapped apart. She shifted away, giving Samwell room to unfold the cloth. 

He slowly peeled the frayed, stiff fabric aside to reveal what appeared to be a cache of spears. He looked at Brienne and she dragged a finger along the center. 

“It’s not steel,” she said. She picked one of the spears up and turned it over and tested the weight of it on her palm. The weapons were inky black with hints of blue depending on the angle she held it. She carefully transferred it to Samwell’s palm. 

He inspected the spear. “It feels like glass,” he noted. 

Brienne heard what sounded like the crunch of a boot behind them and got to her feet. “Samwell,” she snapped, a warning. 

Still holding the spear, he scrambled to stand. He saw a creature – little more than brittle bones and stringy hair – lumbering toward them. 

Brienne stepped in front of Samwell and drew her sword. She knew it would not kill the wight, but she hoped it would be incapacitated enough to give them time to escape. 

He watched, helpless, as Brienne fought the creature. She ended up on her back, the long, gnarled bones of the wight at her throat. Samwell charged at them, using what was in his hand – the spear – to stab at the wight. It collapsed on top of Brienne and she grunted as she threw the limp bones aside. 

The two of them looked at each other and down at the spear in his hand. Before either could say a word, they heard the approach of two more creatures. One more closely resembled a living man, with mottled white flesh, and the second was a child – a small boy with pale skin and blue eyes. 

Brienne took the spear from Samwell and charged at the larger of the two, taking him down after a brief struggle. She sat up on her knees and came face to face with what had once been a child. Her stomach dropped as she reared back and swung, stabbing the tip of the spear in the wight’s chest. 

She got to her feet and turned to see Samwell closing the cloth around what remained of the weaponry. He struggled to re-tie the rope, his hands chapped and numb and trembling. 

“I’ll take it,” she shouted to him. “Start running.” 

* 

Jaime dragged a stool across the hay and settled it next to the front legs of a sleek, black-coated horse. He had taken to visiting the stables multiple times a day and even at night, filling the void left by Brienne with grooming and feeding and shoveling muck. He could not remember how he had passed the time before her arrival. 

He picked up a brush but paused when he heard a soft sound behind him. His heart raced and he turned with such haste that he knocked the stool on its side. But his shoulders drooped in disappointment at the sight of Genna and her baby. 

“Only us,” she said, smirking. “Didn’t expect to find the Lord Commander in the stables.” 

“Being here calms me,” Jaime told her. 

Genna sat on a bale of hay. “Keeps your mind off Lady Brienne, huh?” 

He glared at her. “Pardon?” 

She scoffed at his supposed confusion. “You miss her.” 

Jaime shook his head in protest. 

“It’s alright,” Genna told him. She lowered her voice to a whisper and said, “I won’t tell anyone.” She laughed. “Don’t have to, really. It’s awful clear.” 

“I don’t know what would make you think I feel anything for Lady Brienne other than the same respect I have for any soldier, but th-” He was interrupted by one blast of the horn, and the look of relief on Jaime’s face betrayed his insistence that he carried no romantic torch for Brienne. 

Genna grinned. “Go on then. Go get her.” 

He dropped the brush at his feet and took off running. He weaved around two stewards walking toward him and narrowly missed tripping over a small pile of dropped wood. Jaime’s boots slid in the snow as he came to a stop as the gate opened. Samwell entered first, and the broad smile on the ranger’s face eased some of the tension pinched between Jaime’s shoulders. Brienne came into view and he was alarmed by days’ old bruises along her right jaw and above her left eye. 

She caught his gaze and smiled. She began to dismount her horse and soon felt a hand helping her down. Brienne tilted her head to see Jaime, and when her feet landed on the ground she turned and found herself mere inches from him. 

“We found something!” Samwell declared. 

Jaime heard him, but the words were muted. His focus was squarely on Brienne. Every sound was muffled and all he saw in his peripheral vision was a blur of black and white. 

“Lord Commander, have you ever seen it?” Samwell asked. 

Jaime snapped out of his daze and had no idea how long the ranger had been talking and what he had said. He glanced at Samwell. “What was that, Tarly?” 

“The weapons we found,” he said, pointing down at the snow where he’d opened the cloth to reveal a cache of spears. “Do you know what they are? One of these killed three wights!” 

“Three wights?” Jaime asked, alarmed, looking at Brienne. 

She reassured him by saying, “They were no match for us. Samwell’s discovery did a better job than fire.” 

Jaime bent one knee, lowering himself toward the ground to inspect the weapons. “I’ve never seen this before.” 

“We should get to the library at once,” Samwell said. “There must be something I missed.” 

Jaime hesitated. “Wouldn’t you both rather sit by the fire? Have something to eat and-” 

“This might be what we need to defeat the White Walkers. How can it wait?” 

Jaime sighed. “Of course.” 

* 

Samwell sat at the table, scouring the books he had already examined. Behind him, Jaime and Brienne each plucked a book from the shelves. 

“Your face,” Jaime said to her, pointing to his own jawline. 

Brienne gingerly touched the skin, sallow yellow mottled with blue. “I’m fine,” she insisted. She described the fight and how easily the spear put an end to their attackers. 

A moment later, Jaime noticed her hide a yawn behind her hand. “Brienne,” he said, “Samwell and I can handle this. You should retire to our solar.” 

She stiffened. She glanced at Samwell to see if he had heard. _Our solar_. Brienne looked at Jaime as she carefully closed the book in her hands. “I am quite tired.” 

* 

Brienne’s fingers and toes were pruned, but soaking in the water soothed her body if not her mind. The water was milky white from the lye and the fire in the hearth helped to keep it warm. She craved the heat after so much time exposed to the elements. After staring into the icy blue eyes of the wights. Of the boy. She closed her eyes, reminding herself he was no longer a child. 

A rattle at the door made Brienne sink lower in the tub. The water wavered above her chest and she braced herself for an intruder, or having to explain her presence to one of the other men. She sighed as the door creaked open to reveal Jaime. 

“Oh,” he said. “I’m... I thought you would be asleep. I’ll leave.” 

“Don’t,” Brienne said. “Please.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne finally resolve the tension between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought COVID anxiety was making it difficult to write and then I ended up with an angry gallbladder. I finally had surgery and am starting to feel like myself again. I missed writing, but I'm a little rusty at this and Brienne is a prune since I left her in the tub for a few months. Thankfully I had already started this chapter which made it a little easier to pick it back up. Thanks to those of you who expressed interest in having the story continued!

The air drained from Jaime’s lungs. He leaned against the doorframe for support as Brienne faced away from him, her soft plea for him to stay hanging heavy in the air. From where he stood, he could see her damp hair and the beads of water shining on her bare shoulders. Her pale skin was kissed by the glow of the fire. In the pause between her request and his response – a soft “I’ll stay” – he could no longer hear the crackle of the flames over the thrum of his own heart. 

Brienne heard the door seal shut followed by the rustle of Jaime removing his cloak. “Was Samwell able to identify the spears?” she asked. 

“No, not yet.” 

She felt him lingering behind her at the perimeter of the room. She drew her knees up to her chest, hugging her arms around her legs. Her insecurities were ignited, wondering if his caution was to protect her modesty or to spare his eyes from seeing her body. “Could you add a log to the fire?” Brienne asked, giving him permission to move. 

Jaime obliged, keeping his eyes on the floor as he moved toward the hearth. The flames hissed as he settled a log on top of the others. “Samwell said the spear killed three wights?” he asked, even though the specifics had already been discussed. 

“Y-yes,” she confirmed. 

He turned around and quickly averted his gaze from the tub. 

“One was a boy.” 

Jaime looked at her profile. 

“A child,” Brienne whispered. 

He winced at the audible pain in her voice. The guilt. “He _was_ a child, Brienne.” Jaime watched as she closed her eyes. He pointed his gaze downward and moved closer to the tub. He turned his back to her and bent his knees, lowering himself to the floor. He leaned his back against the tub and stretched his legs out in front of him. “Don’t be ashamed by what happened. The White Walkers killed the boy.” He heard movement in the water and tilted his head enough to see that Brienne had lifted her hands to cover her face. 

She was quiet a moment before her hands splashed back into the water. 

“You killed the creature he was made into. When you think about what happened... you must think of him as a wight. Just as I have to think-” 

Brienne looked at the back of Jaime’s head, the threads of silver glittering in the dark. She waited for him to finish his thought, and when he remained silent, she prompted, “As you have to think what?” 

He inhaled a heavy breath, holding it until his lungs stretched and burned. “When I saw Aerys in the throne room, I could not look at him as my king. I had to see him for the evil man he’d become.” Jaime paused. He could feel her eyes at the back of his head, could hear her questioning him in the silence. "Did you know he was obsessed with wildfire?” 

Brienne whispered, “No.” 

“He loved to watch people burn,” he said. 

She exhaled a breath of surprise. 

Jaime began to detail Robert’s Rebellion and told her Aerys preferred to burn the city to the ground than lose it to a Baratheon. “The man I swore to protect had caches of wildfire all over the city. Under houses, taverns, even the Red Keep. I tried to reason with him, but he said, ‘Burn them all,’ and I knew there was only one way to stop the Mad King." He paused, dropping his chin to his chest. “I drove my sword into his back. Ned Stark found me there. He saw a member of the Kingsguard with the King’s blood on his sword, but I knew there was no honor left in the man lying dead at my feet.” 

“You didn’t tell Ned about the fire?” 

He shook his. “He judged me guilty the moment he saw me. There was no point in trying to change his mind. I had to make a choice between maintaining my own honor to die with my king or spare the lives of his people.” 

Brienne shuddered. _As I had to make a choice between saving Samwell or saving a wight with a child’s face._

Jaime worried the lack of response from her meant she didn’t believe his tale. She still thought of him as the Kingslayer. But he felt the warm, damp weight of her hand fold over his shoulder and knew she believed. He closed his eyes as he exhaled. 

She swallowed against a lump in her throat. If she had married Jaime all those years ago, she wouldn’t have been swearing herself to a dishonorable man. 

His crimes had been forgiven when he took the black, but he felt more unburdened by his confession to Brienne than by his vows to the Night’s Watch. He heard the splash of Brienne standing in the tub. He was going to offer to leave, to give her privacy. But the way she whispered his name sounded more like another invitation to stay, and Jaime climbed to his feet. He rotated to face her with his eyes pointed up toward the ceiling in case he was wrong. When Brienne did not protest, Jaime let his gaze slowly drop to her face. He winced at the bruises before deciding her eyes had never looked so blue, and the way her teeth nervously pinched her lip reminded him she had never been with a man. His breath hitched as his eyes roamed downward, drinking in the sight of her collarbone, her small, pert breasts, and the thatch of pale hair between her thighs. She was soft and strong and when she moved to lift one leg over the side of the tub, he instinctively offered his hand for her to hold. 

Brienne’s fingers, wet and wrinkled, grasped his hand for balance. She let go but did not move, dripping water onto the floor where she stood. “Jaime,” she said his name again – a needy rasp of breath. 

His hands grasped her hips and he pulled Brienne flush against the front of his body. He could feel patches of wet through his clothes. The contrast of being fully dressed while holding her naked body was thrilling and maddening, and suddenly the layers of fabric he wore were suffocating. 

She dropped her head to his shoulder, feeling the need to hide from him. To hide herself from the intimacy that was foreign to her. Brienne was grateful when Jaime, aware of her hesitancy, reassured her with a soft, careful touch – he drew his fingers up from her wrists to her elbows. Her moan of pleasure was muffled against his shoulder. 

He mirrored her stance, pressing his lips to the slope of her shoulder. After a moment Jaime kissed his way to her neck and she burrowed against him, lifting her arms to hold him. Each gentle press of his lips unraveled the knot of uncertainty and fear in the pit of her stomach and Brienne lifted her head, seeking his mouth. The kiss was unbridled and left her gasping for breath when he leaned away. She looked wounded and worried, but he reassured her with a smile as his hands came to rest at her hips. 

The water was drying on her skin, but Jaime’s tongue chased a droplet from her collarbone to the tip of her breast, catching it with his tongue. He closed his lips around the pink, pebbled flesh before bending his knees to the ground as he kissed his way to her stomach. She quivered beneath his touch. He breathed in the smell of her clean skin and musk, and Brienne’s hands landed on his shoulders for leverage when he licked between her legs. 

She grunted as Jaime tasted her. At first, his tongue only grazed her skin. When she felt the warm, wet shock of him sliding between the cleft of her cunt, her knees weakened. Even though she felt his grip tighten around her hips, Brienne leaned against the sturdy edge of the tub behind her. Heat pooled where he touched her – licking, thrusting, suckling her flesh – and she tilted her head back, releasing a grunt toward the ceiling as the friction of his mouth and beard made her tremor. 

Jaime knew he could happily pleasure her that way for hours, but his clothes were constricting and he longed to feel her against his skin. He leaned back, drinking in the sight of her standing above him with hooded eyes and an open mouth, still heaving in the wake of her release. He stood to his full height, shedding his tunic as he rose. 

Brienne watched him bend to remove each boot, tossing them on opposite sides of the floor. She held her breath as he unlaced his breeches. His cock sprang free from the confines of the cloth, and she felt him pressed against her as Jaime drew her into a tight embrace. He spun them around, closer to the bedroll. He shoved the breeches down to his ankles and kicked them aside as they both sank down to their knees. 

“You’re sure?” he asked, seeking her eyes. 

She nodded. 

“Tell me,” Jaime said. “Tell me you want this.” 

“I want you,” she told him, barely finishing the sentiment before capturing his lips in a searing kiss. 

Jaime clasped the back of her head with his hand as he maneuvered Brienne onto her back. They were tangled awkwardly for a moment, but she bent her knees, opening to him as he settled between her thighs. He kissed her, soft and slow. He broke the contact between their mouths and held her gaze as he reached between their bodies. She stiffened when he pushed inside her, but the stretch and slight burn when he buried himself to the hilt was a passing discomfort. 

“Did I hurt you?” he asked. 

She shook her head. 

He restrained himself from thrusting, giving her time to adjust. Jaime set a gentle, steady rhythm, but when he felt Brienne buck her hips, he surrendered to his baser urges. His head dropped to her chest and her hands clutched him at the base of his spine. He meant to be tender, but he fucked her with abandon – years of isolation and months of tension unfurling with every thrust. He opened his mouth against her breast, his teeth marking her as he grunted and spilled inside her. 

Jaime’s body went slack, collapsing against Brienne. She held him, gladly trapped beneath the weight of his sweat-slicked body. She marveled at their closeness, thinking how everything the Septa had told her was wrong. He caught his breath and lifted his head, and she thought he looked stricken. “Is something wrong?” she asked. 

“No, no,” he whispered, lifting one hand to cup her cheek. He shifted his weight, reclining on his side, one leg hooked around hers. Jaime hadn’t meant to be quite so rough, and he should have found the self-control to withdraw. He should have been less selfish. “I could not think clearly. I hope I didn’t hurt you?” 

Brienne answered with a small, pleased smile. 

Jaime sighed in relief. He settled his hand between her breasts and could feel the hammer of her heart slow to a calmer, steady beat against his palm. He tilted toward her, kissing the tip of one breast while his finger drew lazy circles around the other. He felt the pink flesh tighten under his touch and his hand wandered lower. Brienne sucked a hiss of breath between her teeth when he rubbed her warm, wet flesh. She moaned when he found the bundle of nerves at the apex of her cunt, grazing his thumb back and forth and in circles. He pushed harder and faster as she writhed, and when Jaime realized she was stifling her gasps of pleasure he tightened his lips around her nipple. 

The pressure between her legs peaked and Brienne clenched her teeth and dug her heels into the bedroll. She grasped handfuls of the furs piled beneath her. She rolled her hips and let go of a long, loud moan. Her body relaxed, but she trembled long after Jaime released her from his mouth and rested his hand against her belly. 

He shifted so that he was propped up beside her on his elbow. “How do you feel?” 

Brienne was still winded as she said, “I don’t... I don’t have the words.” 

He smiled knowingly. He settled on his back, sliding his arm beneath her shoulders and urging her to roll toward him. Brienne moved to rest her head on his chest and closed her eyes. 

* 

One of the windows in the Lord Commander’s solar was still vacant a drape. The exposed pane was murky, but the pale light of a new day poured through enough to make Brienne squint and bury her face against Jaime’s chest. Her body went rigid as she fully woke and became aware of her nakedness and his, not to mention the intimate pose of their bare bodies – she had been using his chest for a pillow, his hand rested along the curve of her bottom, and because she had her leg hooked around his, she could feel his flaccid member against her thigh. 

Brienne’s instinct was to move and cover herself, but the muted light of the far north was kinder than blazing suns she had woken to on other mornings in other places. She decided against disentangling herself and possibly rousing Jaime from his slumber. Instead, she drew in a deep breath of the smell of his bare skin – salty with dried sweat, musky and masculine. She was no longer the Maid of Tarth and the memories of what had transpired during the night made Brienne flush. She was unaware of how she pressed herself closer to Jaime, trying to satisfy the escalating throb between her legs, until she felt him harden against her thigh. 

“Mmm,” he moaned sleepily, suspended between sleep and wakefulness. 

She lifted her head enough to watch his eyes flutter open. “I’m sorry,” Brienne told him. 

Jaime grinned. “I’m not.” He maneuvered quickly, fully awake and aroused, to pin her beneath his body. He slipped one hand beneath her head. She faltered as he regarded her with tenderness and desire, and when she began to tilt her head to the side and away from him, he moved his other hand to cradle Brienne’s cheek and held her gaze. “Are you sorry? For last night?” he asked carefully. 

Tears sprang to her eyes. “No,” she responded firmly. 

He smiled before lowering his head to kiss her. The contact between their lips was gentle, but when Brienne shifted and opened her legs around him, it deepened with hunger. Jaime felt like a young man again and reached between their bodies to find she was as aroused as him. He grunted as he guided himself inside her. He saw a flicker of pain cross her face and went still. “Am I hurting you?” 

She was sore, but she had certainly experienced worse pain. “No,” she told him, locking her hands together at the base of his spine and rolling her hips. 

Jaime kissed the bridge of her nose. “Here,” he whispered and slid his arms beneath her, rolling onto his back. 

Brienne settled on top of him. She shifted to sit up and straddle him. His hands around her hips guided her to where she needed to be. She tried to conceal any trace of discomfort as she slowly sank down around him. He remained still as she adjusted, leaning forward slightly. 

He recognized the moment Brienne’s mild pain gave way to pleasure. She emitted a small gasp of surprise and her eyes widened briefly before closing tightly, teeth pinching her bottom lip. Jaime began to thrust and she had to brace her hands on his stomach. He willed himself to be patient and she languidly rolled her hips. He worried she was still hurting when Brienne suddenly went still, her eyes pointed at the door. But soon he heard what she had – knocking. 

Alarmed, Jaime seemed poised to stop. He opened his mouth to call out to the visitor, but Brienne clamped her hand over his mouth. He settled back against the bedroll as she continued to move up and down, her pace quickening as the knocking persisted. He reached between them to stroke her clit, and after a moment of the intense friction, Brienne shuddered. She fell forward, her hand still covering Jaime’s mouth as she pressed her face into the crook of his neck, burying the sound of her release against his skin. His breath pulsed hot beneath her palm as he bucked his hips furiously. 

Edd attempted to open the barred door and shouted with concern. 

Jaime’s body stiffened and he spent himself, the weight of Brienne’s hand muffling his own strangled cries of release. She let go and he panted until he found his voice. “I'm awake!” he shouted toward the door. He collapsed against the bedroll as she shifted away from him, gathering a fur to wrap around her body as she hid herself in the far corner. “Wait a moment,” Jaime called out, searching the floor for his clothes. He nearly fell over trying to step into his breeches as he walked to the door. 

“Lord Commander,” Edd said when the door opened. “I apologize for, uh, waking you.” 

“What’s happened?” 

“Samwell needs to see you in the common hall. He has news.” 

Jaime sighed, nodding. “I’ll be there shortly.” He started to close the door but Edd pushed against it with his fist. 

“Bring Lady Brienne with you,” Edd said, grinning. “Samwell wants to to tell you both.” 

Jaime stared at his retreating figure for a moment before shutting the door. He turned to see Brienne walk out from under the shadows, shaking her head. “I never said a word,” she insisted. 

“Neither did I,” Jaime told her. He recalled what Genna had said – that he didn’t need to confirm or deny his feelings for Brienne because anyone could see the fondness that he held for her. He shrugged, smiling. 

* 

Jaime and Brienne walked into the hall side by side, and before either of them could extend a greeting, Samwell announced, “Dragonglass.” 

Jaime’s eyes narrowed as he approached the eager young man. “Pardon?” 

“Lord Commander,” Samwell said before pointing his gaze at Brienne, “and Lady Brienne. I’ve identified the weapons we found. It’s dragonglass." 

They were both familiar with the name. Maesters called it obsidian. Brienne asked, “Is there a way to get more?" She turned to look at Jaime. “We would need more than what we found at The Fist of the First Men to defeat the wights.” 

“I believe there is a rather large supply at Dragonstone,” Samwell offered. 

Brienne heaved a disappointed sigh, unsure how they would manage to procure a decent supply quickly when it was under the ownership of a Targaryen. “Jaime,” she said, “perhaps if I appeal to Daenerys-” 

“My brother,” Jaime said. “Tyrion has been living at Dragonstone for months now.”


End file.
